


Worth Dying For

by whoknows



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Bodyguard, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 17:07:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 44,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13575090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whoknows/pseuds/whoknows
Summary: “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Louis says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. In the center of the table, a set of three glossy photos stares up at him, mocking him.“A security detail is non-negotiable, Louis, you know this,” his mum reminds him, tapping the middle photo with two fingers.Louis doesn’t look back down at the pictures, gesturing towards them wildly, over-dramatically. “This is not a security detail!” he protests. “This is a lanky college student. In what world do you hire someone like this kid to protect me?”





	Worth Dying For

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KrisStylinson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrisStylinson/gifts).



> Hello KrisStylinson! I chose your second prompt: 
> 
> Omega Prince Louis Tomlinson is as troublesome as he is attractive. While mostly harmless, his parent(s) grow tired of his constant antics and hire a personal guard for him. Enter Alpha Harry, who won't be swayed no matter how much Louis may bat his eyes and beg, and is not afraid to put Louis in his place.
> 
> I hope that you enjoy this and that I've filled your prompt to your liking! I ended up running out of time to write, so I wasn't able to get as many scenes in as I wanted.
> 
>  
> 
> **Additional Warnings:**
> 
>  
> 
> Due to the nature of their positions and personalities in this fic, there are some issues of consent. I would say they're minor at most, but they do exist. I have tagged this with graphic depictions of violence, but the violence only takes place towards the end and isn't that descriptive. There is also a kidnapping in this fic, so if any of these things trigger you please skip this one!

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Louis says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. In the center of the table, a set of three glossy photos stares up at him, mocking him.

“A security detail is non-negotiable, Louis, you know this,” his mum reminds him, tapping the middle photo with two fingers.

Louis doesn’t look back down at the pictures, gesturing towards them wildly, over-dramatically. “This is not a security detail!” he protests. “This is a lanky college student. In what world do you hire someone like this kid to protect me?”

“That lanky college student knows four different kinds of martial arts, is licensed to carry a firearm and has five years of experience in the private security field,” his dad points out. “Louis, you can’t honestly have thought we would hire someone who wasn’t capable of keeping you safe.”

That wasn’t exactly what Louis meant. Of course, it’s also not _not_ exactly what Louis meant, and both of his parents know that. He slumps down a little, crossing his arms tighter. “Well, just know that all the media outlets are immediately going to start assuming that he’s my college boyfriend,” Louis says. He feels like it’s a valid point.

Judging from the way his mum rolls her eyes and his dad sighs, Louis thinks that they might not care.

 

Louis is expecting to have a little bit more time with his freedom before the new bodyguard arrives. The last one had quit only two weeks into his new employment, which is actually a record for Louis, and the list of people willing to take him on as a client gets shorter and shorter with every one that leaves. So when he opens his eyes the next morning, the last thing he’s expecting is for someone to be in the room with him.

“You’re late, you know,” the guy informs him casually, leaning against the closed door and crunching a bite of apple between his teeth. In that moment, Louis’ body betrays him, and he takes a deep breath, inhaling the deep, heady scent of alpha.

It’s not as though Louis didn’t know that this one was an alpha, or that he hasn’t had alpha bodyguards in the past. He read the file - Harry Styles, 23, all the usual boring details about who he’s worked for in the past and specific information on his skills, bolded mention of him being an alpha, physical description, etc - but waking up to him here, in Louis’ bedroom, is kind of a shock to the system.

Normally, Louis has a much tighter grip on his instincts. He has to, being an omega and all, but when he’s not expecting it, when he’s barely even conscious, it’s much harder to control. An alpha who thinks he’s scenting him? Never really turned out in Louis’ favour before, at least not when it doesn’t involve sex.

To his credit, the guy keeps leaning back against the door, pretending to ignore it. Louis sits up, uncaring of the way the sheets fall to his waist, and says, sharp, “Who told you that you can be in here?”

The guy, _Harry_ , takes another bite of his apple, says around it, “Your parents were pretty clear that you are to be on time to the event today and that I should use any means necessary to ensure that happens.”

That does sound like something his parents would do. More specifically, that sounds like something his _mother_ would do. And it’s not like Louis’ previous bodyguards haven’t done the exact same thing before - worse, even, literally hauled him out of bed by force before - but they were all at least twenty years older than him. None of them had been anything close to Louis’ age, and that must be what’s so unsettling about this.

“Well, I’m awake,” Louis says, making a shooing motion with two fingers. “Run along, now.”

Harry doesn’t move. He takes another bite of his apple, chewing for an excruciatingly long amount of time, and swallows before he responds. “Your parents were also pretty thorough in explaining your tendency to pretend to fall back asleep when you don’t want to attend something. So I think I’m going to stand here until you actually get up from that bed.”

Louis scoffs, hugging his arms to his bare chest tighter. Now that he’s a little more awake, he’s starting to feel the chill in the air, the way his skin prickles with goosebumps. He's also a lot more conscious of the parts of his body that are exposed, no more than if he were in a bathing suit, but it feels different when he’s in his own bed, somehow. It’s throwing him off balance.

“And what are you planning to do if I don’t get up?” he demands. “Throw your apple core at me?”

Harry raises a singular eyebrow, looking down at the apple thoughtfully. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?” 

There’s nothing overtly disrespectful about the way he’s speaking, but Louis is a little rankled anyway. It’s just something – something that’s hiding a hint of impropriety behind it. Something that could become familiarity, given time, and that’s something Louis isn’t used to. Not with people he’s just met, and especially not with his bodyguards. Not since Franco, anyway.

“I sleep naked,” Louis says, pulling his shoulders up. He is a member of the royal family, and it’s about time he started acting it around this guy, regardless of how unsettled he actually is. “So if you don’t mind?”

He doesn’t sleep naked. His knees get cold. The eyebrow Harry has raised doesn’t lower. “Sure you do,” he says, just well-mannered enough not to call Louis out on the lie. “If you’re not dressed and out the door within the next fifteen minutes I’m coming back in, though.” He leaves, pulling the door closed behind him firmly, and Louis sits in his bed for a few more minutes, blinking slowly.

That was certainly an interesting encounter. Louis isn’t sure that it bodes well for their working relationship.

 

The event that day is a brunch fundraiser. The proceeds are to go to Alzheimer’s Society, and it’s an event Louis has spent days trying to wheedle his way out of.

It’s not that he minds doing charity work, and the Alzheimer’s Society is a wonderful cause, doing wonderful work. In fact, he quite enjoys his charity work, most of the time. It’s just that this particular fundraiser is, beyond a doubt, the most uncomfortable one he’s ever had to attend. Members of the most prestigious British families attend, but over the years the event has gained the reputation of being a bore, and the only people at the event under seventy are members of the royal family, the staff from the Society, and members of the media. Again, not a bad thing on its own. Honestly, it’s all the _pinching_ that makes it uncomfortable.

Louis doesn’t know whether it’s because he’s an omega, or if it’s because he’s the oldest royal child, but ever since he came of age this brunch has been nothing but grandmothers pinching his cheeks, insinuating what a good mate he would make one of their grandchildren, some even going as far as to overtly proposition him into an arranged marriage. It’s the event Louis looks forward to the least of the entire year, and he’s never been able to get out of it. Not even the year he had strep throat and couldn’t even speak.

He gets dressed with as much grace as he can muster, blowing his way out of his bedroom with a minute and thirty seconds to spare. Normally, Louis doesn’t take too kindly to alphas telling him what to do, but he’s not going to risk Harry actually coming back into his room. It’s the only reason he’s ready to go so quickly.

The drive to the reception hall is short and uneventful. Louis gets out of the car and smooths down his jacket before posing for pictures. It takes an hour to even make it inside the building, and by the time it finally happens Louis’ cheeks are a little sore from smiling. Harry has been a quiet presence hovering a few steps behind him, out of sight for the cameras but close enough to intervene should anything happen. Not that anything is going to – this event doesn’t exactly draw out the worst behaved of attendees.

Once inside, Louis sets about greeting each attendee personally. There’s about eighty people in attendance, which means that it’s going to take a while, but it’s part of the job. The first person he greets is Mrs. Manuel, a spry seventy year young socialite with money to burn. She never fails to make a big contribution to the cause, and Louis doubts that this year is going to be any different.

“Mrs. Manuel, lovely to see you again,” Louis says, taking Mrs. Manuel’s hand in his own and pressing a gentle kiss to the back of it.

Mrs. Manuel laughs and swats Louis on the arm. “Louis, my dear, you know you don’t have to do that every time you see me,” she says, chiding.

“Of course I do,” Louis says easily. “How’s Miguel doing?”

It’s an opening Mrs. Manuel takes, talking about Miguel and her other grandchildren for the next ten minutes. It’s a part of the event Louis doesn’t actually mind, but there’s still seventy-nine other people he has to greet before he can sit down, and he hasn’t had a chance to properly break in these shoes. 

As soon as he sees an opening, he looks back at Harry and says, “Oh, my, Mr. Kent must be waiting for me by now, isn’t he?”

Harry doesn’t even blink, arms folded across his chest. “I don’t think he’s arrived yet, Mr. Tomlinson,” he says. He’s dressed appropriately for the situation, wearing a black suit complete with a tie, and combined with the tone he’s using it seems like he actually has some respect for Louis’ position.

It’s a good façade. Inwardly, Louis is seething, but he doesn’t let his smile slip off his face as he turns back to Mrs. Manuel. It takes another fifteen minutes to extract himself from the situation, and as soon as they’re out of hearing distance, Louis turns to Harry, never letting his smile slip from his face, and hisses, “The next time I signal for you to get me out of a conversation you’re to do it, do you understand?”

“I’m not going to do that,” Harry says. “You’re a grown man, you should know how to excuse yourself gracefully by now.”

Immediately, Louis thinks back to the hours upon hours he spent getting etiquette lessons as a child. For a long time, they were tailored specifically for omegas, as though omegas are the only ones who are expected to be polite and courteous. It took entirely too long for the nature of those lessons to change, and Louis is still a little bitter about it.

Instead of unleashing any of that, Louis draws himself up to his full height and gestures to the crowd as subtly as he can. Hopefully it’ll just look like him giving instructions to his bodyguard to any onlookers. 

“There’s eighty people in attendance right now,” he says. “This event doesn’t truly start until I’ve greeted each and every single one of them, which means that neither of us gets to go home until I’ve shaken hands and made small talk with dozens of people, and that’s before all the speeches and the meal. If I don’t do something to hurry it along a little we’ll be here until two in the morning. Is that what you want?”

“That’s not in my job description,” Harry says. “My job is to keep you safe, not save you from having to make small talk with a few nice old ladies.”

Louis stares at him for a second, frustrated, before turning back around and preparing himself to greet the next person. This arrangement is definitely not going to work. Louis is clearly going to have to do something about it.

 

The fundraiser leaves Louis’ cheeks a little sore and his pride a little wounded. Something about him must make grandmothers want to coo over him and try to get him to settle down, despite his reputation. Louis honestly has no idea what it is.

The pinching and the cooing combined with Harry’s gently quirked eyebrow as he ignored every hint Louis dropped to get him out of a situation have left Louis restless. He doesn’t say a word on the way back home and is out of the car the second it comes to a stop, making his way through winding hallways easily. It doesn’t take long to make his way back to his room, but the entire way there he’s conscious of Harry’s footsteps falling softly behind him, having no trouble keeping up with the pace Louis is setting.

Louis shuts the door in Harry’s face before he can say anything stupid. It hasn’t even been a full day and his nerves are already alight. Clearly Harry isn’t the right fit for him, and nothing goes about proving that the way sneaking out does. Mind set, Louis sits down on the edge of the bed, running his hands through his hair. He’ll wait a few hours, then make his way off the property the way he’s done a thousand times before.

 

About two hours later, Louis opens his door, ready to head out into the night, dressed in a pair of distressed jeans and a black hoodie, wallet tucked into his back pocket and phone in hand. It’ll take him about twenty minutes to get to Zayn’s house, and he’ll come back sometime in the morning, just early enough to seem like he’s been out all night clubbing.

There’s an armchair in the hallway, pressed up against the wall exactly opposite to Louis’ doorway. Harry’s slouched down in it, a well worn book in his left hand and a mug in his right. He looks up as the door opens, raises an eyebrow at Louis and asks, “Going somewhere?”

What the hell. Louis slams the door in Harry’s face instead of answering. Of all the ways he thought this would go, he never expected not to even make it out the door. Harry’s supposed to be a bodyguard, not a stalker.

Well, if this is the way it’s going to be, Louis can make things plenty difficult for Harry. He was a pretty rebellious teenager, after all, and while those days are mostly behind him, he still has plenty of tricks up his sleeve.

He heads over to the window. His bedroom might be on the third floor, but this isn’t the first time he’s gone out the window. Franco used to pull a similar kind of stunt during Louis’ rebellious period and prevent him from sneaking out through the door, but he always had a much harder time keeping Louis from making it out the window. His family has been royalty for generations now, and this castle has been theirs for generations, and the vines growing up the side of the house Louis’ bedroom is on have always been particularly sturdy. He’s never had a problem using them to get in and out.

He doesn’t have any problems now, either. He drops to the ground quietly, grass muffling any noise he might have made, and takes off across the yard, escaping towards the treeline and the cover it provides. There are guards out here, of course, but Louis doesn’t have any intention of avoiding them. He’s twenty-five years old, not sixteen, and if he wants to go for a late-night stroll without his bodyguard he’s perfectly entitled to do so, and that’s what he’ll tell them.

No one tries to stop him as he sets foot onto the public property outside of the castle grounds. It’s impossible that no one has seen his escape, security being too tight for that. Louis smirks to himself, flipping his hood up over his head as he strolls down the sidewalk, texting Zayn that he’s on the way. Clearly Harry didn’t think to have the other guards inform him if Louis seems like he’s going to leave the property. It’s the first mistake he’s made all day, and Louis relishes in it. Looks like this won’t be as hard as he thought it would after all.

 

He and Zayn end up staying up a lot later than Louis intended, playing video games and having a few drinks, and by the time he wakes up the next day it’s nearly noon.

“Shit,” Louis mumbles, making to roll off the couch and onto his feet. He misjudges the distance a little and ends up on the floor, stuck between the side of the couch and the coffee table for a few seconds before he manages to wedge himself free. The sun is shining through the windows brightly, and he winces, shading his eyes with his hand as he searches for his phone and his jeans.

There’s a couple of missed calls from his mum, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary. She’s probably just calling to scold him – if she was actually worried about where he is there would be at least ten calls, not to mention a horde of security beating down Zayn’s door. There’s none of that, which means Louis has nothing to worry about.

He wiggles his way back into his jeans, toeing on his shoes before kicking Zayn in the shin to let him know he’s leaving. Zayn just flips him off, not even opening his eyes, curled up in the most uncomfortable chair Louis has ever seen, and he’s seen quite a few ugly designer chairs in his lifetime. He honestly has no idea why Zayn even owns it.

“Yeah, love you too,” Louis mutters, kicking his way through the random art supplies Zayn always leaves lying around. Unlocking the door and pulling it open, he expects to step out into the hallway and walk a few feet to call the lift.

What he gets is a face full of Harry Styles, bodyguard extraordinaire, standing a foot away from the door, so close Louis almost runs into him.

Reflexively, Louis looks back into the flat. It’s pointless – Zayn is still asleep, and absolutely no help.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Louis says. “Have you been here all night?”

“The car is waiting downstairs,” Harry informs him. There’s a slight tick at the corner of his jaw, the only indication that he’s annoyed at this particular stunt of Louis’.

Louis would never admit it, but he’s grudgingly impressed. The only other bodyguard he’s had who has passed this particular test is Franco, who doesn’t really count because he was by Louis’ side for eighteen years.

“You really are like a stalker,” Louis says, brushing past Harry and heading for the lift. “Did you follow my scent here? I bet you did. That’s really rude, you know. You can’t just go around smelling people without their consent. Shit like that will get you arrested.”

Maybe Louis is more hungover than he realizes, because he doesn’t mind nearly as much as he should. He can’t remember the last person who scented him who he hasn’t been related to. It gets kind of lonely, sometimes, not having that kind of connection, even with a friend.

Zayn doesn’t count. Louis has known him since he was four, and they’re brothers in all but blood.

“Your mother told me where you would be,” Harry says.

Louis’ blood does its best to freeze in his veins. “You woke her up because I snuck out?” He knows his voice is a little shrill, but waking up the Queen in the middle of the night because one of her children has gone missing never ends well for Louis. The lecture he gets is always at least two hours long.

“No, she told me about your proclivity for sneaking out when she hired me,” Harry says, reaching out to push the _down_ button. “But I absolutely would wake her up if I actually thought you were missing, so maybe that’s something you want to keep in mind.”

Okay. Louis _definitely_ needs to get rid of this guy now. No way he’s going to be subjected to anymore of his mother’s lectures than absolutely necessary.

 

The next night, Louis doesn’t bother trying the window. He heads directly for the door, dressed in his getting laid clothes, and walks past Harry without saying a word. 

“It’s almost midnight,” Harry says mildly, like he’s only pointing it out.

Louis keeps walking. “That it is.”

“Where are we going?” Harry asks, following him down the hallway at a sedate pace, a few steps behind him.

“I’m going to a club,” Louis says. “You’re free to stay here and get some rest.”

Even as he says it, he knows it’s not going to happen. And that’s kind of the point, anyway - Harry might have set something up outside to keep Louis from going out the window again, a patrol or a camera or something, but Louis went out the normal way because he needs Harry to follow him. His parents aren’t going to fire Harry for anything short of getting him hurt, so Louis needs to make Harry quit. And one of the easiest ways he’s gotten his bodyguards to quit in the past is with unrelenting clubbing, followed by hooking up.

“Is that really a wise decision?” Harry asks. “Given your myriad of appearances in the tabloids lately?”

Louis is going to get rid of this guy if it’s the last thing he does. “What I do with my body is no one’s business but my own,” he says sharply. “You’d do well to remember that. Now, if you’re going to insist on accompanying me, I’m leaving. Keep up.”

 

For a while, Louis is actually able to lose himself in the music, in the press of bodies around him, in the dancing. At a club like this, no one is really looking too hard at anyone’s faces, and that’s about as much anonymity as Louis usually gets.

There’s too many people crowded together to really be able to scent any one person, but Louis always manages. There’s a few offers to buy him drinks, offers Louis ignores, sweat beginning to drip down his temples as he dances. For a while, the dancing is more important than a potential hook up. For a few minutes, Louis is able to turn off his brain and let his body move the way it wants.

Someone slips up behind him, crowding against his back and moving with him. It’s a guy, not the first one who’s tried dancing with Louis. But he feels solid, and when Louis twists to look at him over his shoulder, he’s tall, good looking. Exactly the type Louis usually goes for when he picks up random dudes at clubs.

Louis twists around, looping his arms up over the guy’s shoulders and looking up at him under his eyelashes. The music is too loud for talking, and that’s fine. Louis isn’t interested in talking. He’ll take this guy home and prove his point.

They dance together for a while, until Louis is almost ready to tug the guy off the dance floor and take him home. Wetting his lips, he opens his mouth to say exactly that.

The words never leave his mouth. An arm circles Louis’ upper chest and shoulders and yanks him backwards before Louis can even think about making any noise or struggling. He’s being dragged away with mercy, without any consideration for his state of inebriation. Under normal circumstances, that would be cause for concern, and definitely cause for making a scene.

The tattoos lining Harry’s bare forearm are a dead giveaway that it’s him, though. Louis spent a few minutes looking at them when his parents first gave him Harry’s dossier. They’re a strange mixture of well planned and random, and only a few of them seem to match. They’re definitely memorable, and that’s how Louis recognizes them now.

For a few seconds, Louis considers making a scene anyway, screaming and trying to escape like Harry actually is trying to kidnap him. The thought of it makes him smile, but he’s not actually that cruel, so he doesn’t. Instead, he goes limp in Harry’s hold, making him drag Louis’ prone body every step of the way. It’s enough of a scene to make him happy, and as an added bonus it’s probably one that will hit the tabloids in the morning. The headline will read something like _Prince Louis’ Drunken Antics Cause Bodyguard to Haul Him Away_.

Something like that, anyway. Louis has never claimed to be good at headline writing.

Harry drags him all the way out of the club and onto the sidewalk. Fresh air hits Louis’ bare arms, prickling goosebumps up in its wake. People are staring at them, and Louis does nothing to lessen any concerns they might have, staying as limp and heavy as he can. Harry ignores them as well, still pulling Louis backwards, not saying a word as they reach a car and he practically tosses Louis into the backseat.

“That’s going to be in the papers in the morning, you know,” he informs Harry casually, sprawling across the seat. “They’re all going to think that you’re some kind of overly jealous alpha I’m having a tryst with.”

Harry shoves at Louis’ leg, trying to move him over. Louis holds out for as long as he can manage before he lets Harry climb in the car beside him. “A tryst, really?” Harry asks skeptically. “That’s the word they would use in this decade? _Tryst_?”

Wow, okay. Louis kind of has to admire how much of an arsehole Harry can apparently be. He knew that his parents must have picked Harry for another reason than his martial art skills. Apparently that reason is that Harry can match him in dickishness. 

“That’s exactly the word they’re going to use,” Louis maintains, refusing to back down. “Tryst. I’ll bet you ten pounds.”

“You know what, I’ll take that bet,” Harry says. “Seatbelt.”

“Good. I’ll collect my ten pounds from you in the morning. If you don’t have it by nine a.m. there’s an interest rate of ten pounds per hour,” Louis says. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and starts scrolling through it.

Harry pulls his phone out of his line of vision. “Seatbelt, or I’ll do it for you, and I won’t worry about being gentle when I do.”

“You’re kind of a dick, you know that?” Louis says, dropping his phone into Harry’s lap and reaching for his seatbelt. 

“You’re breaking my heart,” Harry says dryly, watching Louis click the seatbelt into place. Louis ignores him, picking his phone up out of Harry’s lap and resuming his scrolling for a few seconds.

Then he remembers that this is not the way he intended this night to end and drops his phone into his own lap, fixing Harry with the most irritated glare he can manage. “Oh, and by the way, if you ever pull a stunt like that again I’m not going to bother trying to get you to quit, I’m just going to have your dead body disposed of.”

“Uh huh,” Harry responds, uninterested, looking out the window like he’s scanning their surroundings for some sort of threat. Like he’d be able to do something about it in a moving car if there was. “So next time I’ll just let you go home with some guy you’re not really into to prove something to me. Got it.”

What the fuck. Louis throws himself back into the seat and picks up his phone with a scowl, not bothering to answer. He’s got a ton of other tricks up his sleeve that will make Harry want to quit.

 

Eight hours later, Louis is rudely awakened by an avalanche of newspapers falling on him. He jerks out of his restful sleep, sitting up as quickly as he can manage. Mornings aren’t his strong suit, so he spends a few seconds blinking uselessly, looking down at the pile of paper covering his bed.

“What the fuck,” he grumbles eventually, pushing some of the newspapers off the side of the bed.

“You seem like the type of person who would demand proof when they’ve lost a bet, so I made sure to get one of every newspaper at the shop,” Harry says from above him. “Not a single one uses the word _tryst_ , so you owe me ten pounds. Remember, there’s an interest rate of ten pounds per hour if you’re late, so you might want to pay up now.”

_So_ fired. Louis flops back down against his pillows, already dreaming about it.

 

He ends up having to pay Harry five times the cost of the original bet. Who carries around cash these days, anyway?

 

By far, the most obvious ploy is to use his sexuality to his advantage. Harry doesn’t seem like the type to take advantage, which is something Louis can pretty much smell by this point in his life, being a royal, unmated omega, but he’s still a young, unattached alpha with an obvious weakness for pretty omegas. And Louis is nothing if not a pretty omega.

They get back home that night and Harry herds Louis all the way into his bedroom, flicking the lock on the window closed with a pointed look before he leaves the room. He doesn’t go far, settling in the chair in Louis’ living quarters, and Louis doesn’t go to close the door before he starts taking his clothes off. He goes as slow and sensually as he can manage, taking each item off with care and laying it out on the bed before starting in on the next one.

Harry looks up exactly once. He looks at Louis for less than a second before returning his attention back to whatever he was doing before, like he had just been checking that Louis wasn’t trying to sneak out.

Okay. Maybe this is going to be a little harder than Louis thought it would be.

 

Over the course of the next few days, Louis strips down whenever he sees the opportunity. He ends up going through much more laundry than he would normally in order to make it seem like the undressing serves a purpose, but it’s all pointless. Occasionally, he’ll catch the tail end of Harry’s eyes on him, and it always seems like a relatively warm, interested look, but nothing ever comes of it. Harry doesn’t seem to care that Louis is all but getting naked in front of him, keeping a professional distance. The only thing Louis can think of to do to get Harry’s attention is to actually strip all the way down, and that’s going a step too far, even for him.

Harry’s professional distance is pretty much limited to him not watching Louis get undressed, though. He’s different than any other bodyguard Louis has ever had – much less formal, more open and present. Maybe it’s his age, or his previous clients, Louis doesn’t know. Harry’s personality comes through, a strange mix of eclectic traits, and in another world Louis would actually like him. He’s got a dry, sarcastic sense of humour, and Louis likes that in a person. His jokes are mostly terrible, but Louis can let that slide.

He really needs Harry to quit, though, and that’s not going to happen if Louis is friendly to him. So he keeps his distance, keeps taking off his clothes when he sees fit, and grows increasingly more frustrated as nothing seems to faze Harry.

It would be a lie if Louis said that he doesn’t normally wander off on his own. For most of his life, having a bodyguard stuck to him like a second skin was always a point of contention, something Louis hated. He has a reputation for sneaking out, one that’s well deserved. Harry found him once, and prevented him from leaving on his own another time, but it’s been a few days since then. The only problem is that Louis doesn’t actually feel like going outside, or putting on real pants. Instead, he tugs on a pair of socks and cracks the door open, peeking out into the hallway.

No one’s there. Clutching his phone and his book in the same hand, he makes his way through the estate, pausing whenever he hears voices or footsteps. He’s going to the library on the other side of the building. There’s an armchair in there that he likes to read in, broken in comfortably in a way that not a lot of the other furniture in the house is.

Louis is well aware of his reputation, and he knows that the last place most people would expect to find him is in the library. Harry isn’t even going to look here. He’ll probably assume that Louis has left the property altogether.

He makes it to the library without running into anyone, and he flops down into the chair, tucking his feet up underneath him and settling in for the night. Now that he’s here, he wishes he had thought to bring a blanket. Oh well. _The Count of Monte Cristo_ awaits. It’s not the first time he’s read it, so it won’t matter too much if he falls asleep here instead. All that matters is getting closer to his goal of making Harry want to quit.

Opening the book, he starts reading, and it doesn’t take long before he’s lost in Edmond’s world. He gets so lost in it, in fact, that he doesn’t realize that someone’s in the room with him until a hand fists in the neck of his shirt and drags him up out of his slumped position.

“Fuck,” he wheezes, dropping his book and going tense. It takes him a second to realize that it’s Harry’s hand holding him up.

He’s tempted to punch Harry in the crotch and claim that it was instinct. It’s very hard to resist that temptation, and Louis isn’t even sure why he does.

“If you were a normal person, I would assume that you came in here because you wanted to get something to read and not because you wanted to spite me,” Harry says. “Too bad you’re not a normal person.”

Louis knocks Harry’s hand off of him. “It wasn’t to spite you,” he says truthfully, hunching over so he can grab his book off the floor. “Was it working?”

When he looks back up, Harry hasn’t moved away to give Louis any more room. He’s standing a few inches in front of Louis’ chair, and Louis can’t help but think that if someone were to walk in on this, it would look like something entirely different is going on.

Good. Maybe rumours of an illicit affair would help kick Harry to the curb.

“It might have been working if I was ten years old and didn’t know that you’re pulling my pigtails,” Harry says, finally taking a step back. “It would be a lot more comfortable to read in your own bed, you know.”

Pulling his pigtails? _Pulling his pigtails_? Seriously? Louis doesn’t understand what’s going on here anymore. He stands up, purposefully stepping on Harry’s toes in the process, and heads for the door without another word. 

What does he have to do to get to this guy?

 

Contrary to popular belief, Louis doesn’t spend the majority of his time partying. He’s not going to lie and say that he doesn’t enjoy a good party on a pretty regular basis, but he’s not out partying all the time. Actually, Louis spends most of his spare time watching telly or reading. There’s really no point in trying to hide that after Harry’s already found him doing it, so Louis stops trying. 

Instead, he spends time trying to figure out exactly what kind of behaviour is likely to annoy Harry the most. He doesn’t seem to care about Louis’ partial nudity, and while Louis isn’t quite ready to give up on that aspect, he does need other ideas.

Once he stops trying all the usual tricks – sneaking out, mouthing off, partying – he starts to get a sense of who Harry is. What his likes and dislikes are, his habits. He’s an early riser, likes to work out before Louis gets up, eats while reading articles on his phone and showers after all of that. From there, he goes about his day doing what Louis does, corralling him to whatever places are on the schedule, making sure he doesn’t let Louis out of his line of sight. He even goes with him to the loo when they’re out. If Louis wasn’t used to it, it would be a serious invasion of his privacy.

Harry has a routine that he sticks to pretty closely. As soon as Louis has it figured out, he sets his alarm for five a.m. It’s an hour before Harry usually gets up, and a few hours before Louis would normally drag himself out of bed. Understandably, he’s pretty grumpy when the beeping starts, and he lies in bed for five minutes with the alarm on snooze, contemplating giving up on the plan and just going back to sleep.

No. It’s been a week since Harry started, and in that time he’s been annoyingly consistent in his ability to get Louis places without letting him escape for even five minutes, and Louis can’t live his life like that. He needs to be able to occasionally make a break for it if he wants to breathe. 

Louis rolls out of bed, not bothering to change his clothes or put on socks, despite the cold floor against his feet, and pads out of his room, into the hallway. There’s a guard stationed there, has been ever since the night he escaped to the library, who looks up when the door opens. He’s young, relatively new to the Queen’s service, and looks slightly panicked when he sees Louis. Louis thinks his name is Fred.

“Don’t worry, I’m not escaping,” Louis tells him, sliding quickly across the floor, trying to keep his feet moving. Maybe he should have put those socks on after all. “You can follow me if you’re worried about it.”

Fred doesn’t say anything as he falls into step behind Louis. Harry would be demanding to know where he’s going by now, arms crossed over his chest and a frown on his face, adamant that he can’t protect Louis properly if he doesn’t have all the details. As though Louis isn’t allowed to take a walk in the park without running it by him.

Whether Fred doesn’t say anything because he’s intimidated or for another reason, Louis doesn’t know. It makes for a silent trip to Harry’s room, anyway. When they get there, Louis immediately bangs his fists against the door and shouts, “Harry!”

It only takes a minute for Harry to yank the door open, out of breath and shirtless. Louis stumbles forward a bit, nearly smacking directly into Harry’s body.

“What is it?” Harry demands, steadying Louis absently, looking past him into the hallway, eyes sweeping it for danger. He takes a step to the side and then one ahead, so he’s more or less standing in front of Louis.

Louis rolls his eyes. Typical alpha move. “I want to go out for breakfast,” he announces. Harry still has one hand on his shoulder.

Slowly, Harry’s head swings around to look at Louis. “What time is it?”

Louis bites back a smirk, shrugging. “I dunno. Woke up and I was hungry.”

Over Harry’s shoulder, he sees Fred starting to frown. He must have heard Louis’ alarm going off, then. Louis narrows his eyes and stares Fred down, daring him to say anything. It takes a few seconds, but Fred swallows and averts his eyes, mouth still closed.

Good. Louis doesn’t make a habit of trying to intimidate any of their staff, but the last thing he needs is someone ratting him out.

“You woke up and you were hungry,” Harry repeats. He’s frowning now, too, attention focused on Louis, hair sleep mussed and sticking up weirdly. “Why didn’t you go down to the kitchen and get something to eat, then?”

There’s an edge to his voice that says he’s pissed. Louis’ plan is definitely working. It’s working so well that he’s even willing to ignore the fact that Harry’s hand is still gripping his shoulder.

“Because I want bacon and eggs and Maria doesn’t come in until seven,” Louis says. “So we gotta go out to a restaurant.”

Harry’s still staring at him. God, this was such a good plan. Louis is a genius. Nothing like being woken up early and being made to start working before you’re ready for it. He makes a mental note to ensure that Harry is paid time and a half for the day.

“We’re not going to a restaurant,” Harry says firmly. He’s got tattoos on his chest and stomach too, weird designs that he probably thinks are quirky instead of just strange. Who gets a moth tattooed on them instead of a butterfly? Hipsters, that’s who.

Louis opens his mouth to reply with something sharp, perhaps a reminder of who exactly Harry works for. Harry cuts him off before Louis can say anything. “If you want bacon and eggs so goddamn bad I’ll make them for you.”

Louis’ mouth clicks closed. Of all the things he was expecting Harry to say, that was probably on the bottom of the list. If he says no, it cements the notion that he’s a spoiled arsehole, just another rich kid who doesn’t care about other people. If he says yes, Harry is going to make him breakfast and Louis can judge him on his cooking skills.

It’s really not even a choice. “Fine. But put on a shirt first, do you know how unhygienic it is to cook like that?”

 

Bacon sizzles in a pan. Louis sits on a stool, swinging his legs idly, watching Harry move around the kitchen, opening and closing cupboards as he tries to figure out where everything is. Louis could help him, but this is more amusing.

Instead of putting on a clean shirt, Harry just threw on the one he was wearing yesterday. He smells sleep soft, back muscles shifting under the material as he cracks eggs into a bowl. He hasn’t said much since they came down here, movements slow and fumbling. Louis thought he was a morning person, so either he was wrong about that or the extra hour of sleep really does make a difference for Harry.

It’s not like Louis is a morning person, either. That Harry is so grumpy right now is making waking up so early worth it, though. Louis’ heels thud dully against the island as he swings his feet, the most noise in the otherwise quiet kitchen. 

Once the eggs are whisked, Harry pours them into a pan, giving them a quick stir, before pulling the coffee pot out of the maker, turning on the tap and filling it with water. And that’s just too good of an opportunity to miss, especially when Louis’ plan is to be as annoying as possible today.

“Wow, coffee, really?” he says derisively. “What kind of Brit are you? Don’t you know that we’re loyal to the Queen and our national beverage in this household?”

Harry doesn’t pause, flicking the tap off before heading back to fill the filter with coffee. “If you’re so loyal to tea in this house, why do you even have a coffee pot?”

The last thing Louis is going to do is admit that he drinks coffee just as much as he does tea. “We keep it for heathens like you who don’t know a good thing when they see it.”

There’s a soft beep as the machine gets turned on. Harry turns around, casting a brief, exasperated look in Louis’ direction before he moves to flip the bacon. “You do remember that I’ve seen you drinking coffee at least once a day for the past week, right?”

Fuck. Louis had actually forgotten about that. There’s really no way to backtrack and cover his tracks now. He hops off the stool, tiptoeing across the floor so as little of his feet touch the cold tile as possible, and peers into the pan on the stove. The bacon looks like it’s almost done, and he while he was actually lying about being hungry earlier, his stomach lets out a little growl at the sight.

“What would you have done if I said I wanted eggs benedict this morning?” he asks. He has a strange, irrational urge to poke at the bacon sitting in the hot pan. It just looks so delicious.

“I would have made eggs benedict instead,” Harry says. He comes back over to the stove, nudging Louis out of the way when he doesn’t move on his own. “Five in the morning is too early for going anywhere, much less going out for breakfast.”

So he’s _not_ a morning person, then. He does a pretty good impression of one.

“Wait, with homemade hollandaise sauce?” Louis asks suspiciously. “Because it doesn’t count unless the hollandaise is homemade.”

“Yeah, with homemade hollandaise sauce,” Harry agrees. “Can you stop hovering?”

Look, it’s not Louis’ fault. It’s just that the food smells so good, and all the talk about eggs benedict is making him even hungrier. Reluctantly, he takes a single step back, unwilling to go any farther.

“Can you cook more than eggs or is that your only talent?” Louis asks, watching as Harry plates the food and brings it over to the island.

“Eggs are my one true love,” Harry says solemnly, hooking a stool with his foot and pulling it out before sitting down. “Without them, I would be nothing.”

God, what a nerd. How can someone with a face like that be such a nerd? It should be impossible.

Louis tucks into his food, forkfuls of eggs and bacon at the same time. He doesn’t eat with the table manners he’s had instilled in him over the years, but no half chewed food tumbles out of his mouth, so that’s a win. The food is good, too. Harry added something to the eggs that make them a tad spicy, leaving a pleasant tingle in his mouth.

Harry, on the other hand, eats with his elbows tucked neatly at his sides, not even coming close to touching the table, chewing quietly and with his mouth firmly closed, dabbing at the corners of his lips with a napkin between bites. Although it’s not the first time Louis has seen him eat, it’s the first time they’ve eaten a real meal together, and Louis is kind of entranced by Harry’s table manners. He wonders if Harry is always such a polite eater or if he’s doing it because Louis is royalty.

Louis finishes eating first, piling his cutlery on top of his plate along with his used napkin. He sits and watches Harry finish eating. If it makes Harry uncomfortable, he doesn’t show it, chewing at the exact same pace he was before. If it does, it’s just an added bonus. Maybe it will even contribute to Louis’ plan.

When he finishes, Harry stands up and makes to grab Louis’ plate along with his own. Louis swipes it out of his reach, standing up as well. “I’ll do this part.”

He grabs Harry’s plate from him before Harry can react, gathering up his own stuff and carrying it over to the sink, setting the dishes down in the sink and turning the water on. The dishwasher is only a step or two to the right, but Louis doesn’t bother checking if it’s full or not. There’s only a few things here, it’ll be easier to wash them by hand.

Plus he doesn’t have to unload the dishwasher if it turns out to be full of clean dishes that way.

He can feel Harry’s eyes on him as he makes short work of the dishes. “When I took this job, I never thought that I’d be watching the prince do dishes at six in the morning,” Harry says. Louis doesn’t deign that with a response, but he does toss a fistful of water over his shoulder.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have terrible aim?” Harry asks. Louis turns around with the intention of taking the sink attachment and showing Harry exactly how good his aim is, but Harry’s hair is perfectly sleep mussed, tangled around his face, and his eyes are green.

Something about that stops Louis. He goes back to washing the dishes, because that’s what he wants to do.

“So what’s the plan for today?” Harry asks. “I assume you’re not just going to go back to sleep after such a big breakfast.”

Shit. Louis had been planning on going back to sleep. He can’t do that now, though. Quickly, he wracks his brain for something to do, something that will annoy Harry.

“I have to answer letters,” Louis says. It’s the part of any day he dislikes the most. If the letters were genuine, real conversations he wouldn’t mind them so much, but the majority are filled with snide remarks and lame insults, and they still have to be answered personally, to show the people that the Crown is accessible to them. The only letters that don’t need to be answered are ones with threats in them. Every member of the royal family has a quota that they need to reply to per day, which makes it quite a tedious task. And the fact that they all have to be handwritten doesn’t help.

“Okay,” Harry says. “Sounds easy enough.”

It’s a tedious task, but it’s not one that’s particularly difficult. Today, though, Louis is thinking that it’s probably going to be quite hard. Much harder than normal.

“Yeah, it’s pretty easy,” Louis agrees. “We just have to go to parliament and pick up the letters, write them and send them off from there. No big deal.”

Going to the parliament buildings is never anything short of a nightmare. Louis makes it his mission to step foot into the place as little as he can, especially because of the way he’s regarded there. His reputation serves him well in most of his life, but not when he has to step into a building filled with politics. No matter what he does, there’s always a horde of people there who dislike and disagree with his choices. Louis can’t win.

Aside from all of that, everything takes three times as long at parliament as it does anywhere else. Responding to letters is something that already takes a while, but at parliament it’ll literally take all day. Which will give Louis plenty of time to think of another annoying thing to do once that’s finished.

This plan is shaping up nicely.

 

Nothing really happens until they arrive at the parliament buildings. Louis changes his clothes, wearing one of the suits he usually does, and Harry follows his cue. There’s a few reserved parking spots for members of the royal family, close to the entrance, and before Louis even gets out of the car there’s a flurry of activity.

Louis steps out of the car, ignoring the rush around him, and strides towards the doors. It’s mostly young staffers that are excited, which is always the way. Once he steps inside, the real flurry begins. It takes about ten minutes to get through security, which is mostly because Louis has to stop and greet everyone he passes. Not everyone is interested, but if he didn’t greet them they would feel slighted. If he wasn’t in the royal family, Louis would be happy having a lot less to do with politics. It’s a lion’s den.

When they’re actually, properly inside, they head down to the archives floor, where the unread letters are stored until they’re picked up. It’s an entire process to sign them out, regular old bureaucracy doing its job.

“Hello, Liam,” Louis greets, stacking his arms on top of the counter and pushing himself up onto his toes, trying to see what Liam’s doing on the computer.

Liam’s a good lad. He’s been working in the archives for a couple of years now, which makes it Louis’ favourite place in the building. He can always be distracted into having a ten minute conversation about the last gossip in pop music, which is something Louis is going to take full advantage of today.

“Hello, Louis,” Liam returns. It looks like he’s doing actual work on the computer, which is disappointing. Louis was hoping to catch him Facebook stalking someone. “Here for some of the letters?”

“I am,” Louis says. “But first, have you heard the latest about Miley Cyrus?”

Liam’s eyes light up. They spend the next twenty minutes talking about Miley Cyrus’ engagement, and Barbara from payroll stops by at the end of the conversation, which means that they need to re-hash the entire thing.

Once they have the boxes of letters, Louis leads the way to his office. It’s tucked away on the third floor, away from the masses. The lip service reasoning behind that is that it’ll give him enough privacy to actually get some work done, but in reality it’s to keep him out of the way and let other people get their own work done. Not that it ever really works. Politicians are a special breed, but the majority of them still can’t resist saying hello to a member of the royal family.

It’s a bit dusty inside, as Louis hasn’t been here in a while. The dust is easy enough to ignore, especially when Harry wrinkles his nose a little and opens a window, airing the room out a bit. Louis sits down behind the desk, flicking on the lamp, and pulls a letter out of the first box.

It’s from a kid named Jeremy, seventeen years old, wanting to know why political parties spend so much money on adverts. Honestly, Louis would like to know the answer to that as well, but it’s not like he can say that. He starts writing his response, tongue in cheek as always. It’s quiet for a few minutes, the only noise shuffling papers and the scratch of Louis’ pen, and he almost forgets that Harry is in the room with him.

“Wow,” Harry says, breaking the silence. Louis looks up, pen poised over the paper. “Some of these letters are - interesting.”

That’s an understatement. Louis is well acquainted with how interesting some of these letter can get. “How so?”

“This one is basically just an ode to your arse,” Harry says, waving one in the air briefly.

Louis goes back to his letter writing. “Oh, yeah, there’s always a few of those in the pile.”

The last one he’d read had some pretty good similes. One had compared his bum to a slice of heaven, which, while not the most original thing he’s ever heard, was pretty nice. Very complimentary.

“Seriously?” Harry asks, skeptical. “Your arse, really?”

Louis is offended. He has a very nice arse and he knows it. Everyone knows it. “Yeah, my arse. It’s a very nice arse, I’ll have you know.”

Everyone knows.

“Well, yeah,” Harry says, like it’s a given. Louis can’t help but feel a little pleased. “I’m just saying, it’s not the thing I would write odes about, if it were me.”

More than anything, Louis wants to know what Harry would write odes about, if it were him. He almost asks, lips slightly parted, and it takes a lot of willpower not to do it. Encouraging this would be a bad idea. Definitely not good for the plan.

“Yes, well, that’s why a letter from you isn’t in this pile, then,” Louis says. “I only allow the ones about my arse to make it through the vetting process.” He turns his attention back to the pile of letters in front of him, but not before he sees the small, amused smile on Harry’s face.

“Yeah, alright,” Harry says quietly, and they go back to reading their respective letters.

 

Six hours later, Louis has replied to a grand total of fifteen letters. He’s not slow, but there has been interruption after interruption, preventing him from being anything close to efficient. It’s why he doesn’t normally come to parliament to answer the letters.

Harry inspects every person who comes to the door with a thoroughness that would be impressive if these people weren’t politicians trying to make a good impression on a member of the royal family. He’s good at his job, effective, and Louis still needs him to leave.

“Alright, let’s go,” Louis says, gathering his things and standing up. Between letter writing and chatting with politicians, he’s come up with a plan for the rest of the day. It’s nearing six o’clock, and he’s put in a decent day’s work. Now, it’s time for dinner, and then a movie. A movie which Louis plans on talking through. Incessantly.

Harry stands up as well, shepherding Louis to the door.

“It’s dinnertime,” Louis announces as they walk. Harry makes a vague, agreeing noise. “Let’s get some street meat.”

Ah, street meat, the quickie of dinners. No one likes eating standing up if they don’t have to, and there’s absolutely no reason that they have to eat like that right now.

“Okay,” Harry agrees easily. It’s the easiest he’s been about anything since he began working for Louis’ family, which can only mean one thing.

He actually _enjoys_ street meat.

It’s not as though Louis doesn’t like it - he wouldn’t put himself through that for the sake of getting someone to quit - but given the choice, he’ll always pick sitting down for his meals.

Louis goes through the door first, and just as he passes Harry, stack of letters under his arm, Harry says, “Your eyes.”

He doesn’t follow it up with anything else, but Louis still knows that he’s talking about writing odes. Flushing a little, he ignores the comment, marching to the elevator.

 

There’s a stand just outside the building. It’s always populated by politicians and staffers, and six o’clock on a Tuesday evening is no exception. They wait in line to get their food in silence, slowly moving closer to the front, and the only reason Louis doesn’t get recognized is because no one turns around to look at him.

They order and get their food, move off to the side to eat. Again, Harry eats neatly, despite the fact that he’s eating a hot dog slathered in ketchup and mustard. Louis, on the other hand, drips condiments down to the ground, barely missing his clothes. They eat fast, finishing their food in a couple of minutes. Louis wipes his mouth off on the back of his hand.

“Alright, now it’s time for a movie,” Louis says brightly. “To the cinema!” He pumps his fist in the air.

Harry stares at him. Despite his neat eating, he has a drop of ketchup at the corner of his mouth, distracting. “You want to go to the cinema, being who you are?”

“Yes,” Louis answers.

“No,” Harry says. “That’s not feasible. It’s way too dangerous, too many unknowns.”

Louis doesn’t tell him about the ketchup. Harry has it coming. Let him walk around for the rest of the day with ketchup crusting his mouth. “Clearly you’ve never been to the old black and white theatre. There’s never anyone else watching the film with you, no matter what time you go.”

Harry’s still looking at him suspiciously. Louis is telling the truth, though, and that must show on his face, as Harry ends up agreeing, albeit reluctantly.

 

_Miracle on 34th Street_ is the only thing playing within a reasonable timeframe. As a completely un-Christmas-like day in June, the theatre is completely empty except for the two of them. Louis makes Harry buy a whole host of snacks, insisting that if he goes up to the counter someone will recognize him and tweet that he’s here, and then before they know it they’ll be overrun with people trying to catch a glimpse of the prince.

It’s a lie. Louis would get recognized, but the girl working the counter, Eliza, would never sell him out like that. She never has before, and Louis trusts her. Louis gives her a discreet wave behind Harry’s back.

Louis gives him the money, of course, but he takes a certain amount of pleasure from watching Harry struggle to carry them all into the theatre by himself. They arrive just in time for the ads to start, and Louis peruses the selection of seats, taking his time to choose where he wants to sit as though he doesn’t always sit in the same place when he comes here. Normally his bodyguards come in long enough to check out the theatre and then go into the hallway to do a crossword puzzle or something, but Harry follows him right up to the seats Louis has chosen and sits down beside him.

It’s pretty much what Louis was expecting. In the past week, Harry has been nothing short of a control freak about his job. Louis’ previous bodyguards were all serious about their jobs, but none have gone to the extreme that Harry does. It’s really inconvenient for Louis’ social life.

As soon as the film begins, Louis starts talking. “Did you know that this movie was originally released in June? The studio head thought that more people go to the movies in warmer weather so they had to hide the fact that it’s a Christmas movie prior to the release.”

Harry’s head swings to look at him. Louis can actually feel the air moving with the motion. “Did you look up facts about the movie on the way here?”

“What? No, of course not. What kind of weirdo would do that?” Louis asks, genuinely surprised that Harry would assume that. He digs his hand into the bucket of popcorn, emerging with a large fistful that he eats piece by piece, spilling at least half of it on his lap.

“Uh huh,” Harry says. “What else do you know about this movie, then?”

On the screen, Kris is hired to play Santa at Macy’s. Louis has probably seen this movie a thousand times by now, enough that he doesn’t have to actually watch it in order to know what’s coming next. Of course, he normally watches it during the Christmas season, but that can’t always be the case, right? Right.

“Maureen O’Hare had just moved back to Ireland when she got the script,” Louis says. “She decided to go back to the States in order to film the movie.”

Harry’s still looking at him. “Wow,” he says. There’s a smell lingering in the air, pine mixing with the popcorn. It’s not entirely unpleasant. “You’re kind of a nerd, aren’t you?”

That’s an offense to Louis’ incredibly cool character. He throws an entire handful of popcorn at Harry’s face. It’s immensely pleasing. For all of five seconds before Harry takes the popcorn away and refuses to let Louis have anymore. Louis throws himself back in his seat and sulks.

“You had ketchup on your face earlier and I didn’t tell you because I don’t like you,” he says.

“Yeah, that’s because you’re a brat,” Harry says easily, eating Louis’ popcorn like it’s nothing. Inwardly, Louis seethes, stretching his arms out wide and ‘accidentally’ knocking his fist against Harry’s shoulder.

“One day I’m going to be free of you, and that’s going to be the best day of my life,” Louis says wistfully. He rips open his package of licorice viciously, biting into one with vigor.

Harry takes a long, slow sip of his drink, looking at the screen. The corners of his mouth are tilted up. “Okay then,” he says. “What else do you know about this film?”

No one is ever interested in Louis’ movie trivia. Zayn says it’s pointless and boring, and his family only puts up with it. No one is ever _interested_. Harry sounds interested. Torn, Louis thinks about pretending that he’s said everything he knows. Ultimately, his desire to talk about movie facts wins out, though.

“Well, the original movie posters kept Kris Kringle in the background while Doris and Frederick are front and centre. Now, the DVD release has Kringle in his Santa costume.”

Louis could go on for hours about movies, and that’s what he spends the next hour doing. Neither of them actually spend too much time watching the movie.

 

They get home around ten p.m. Louis goes to bed pretty early, thinking that the day didn’t exactly go as planned.

He’ll have to try again tomorrow.

 

This might be the most boring book Louis has ever read. He’s been struggling through every page, and now that he’s only got a couple of chapters left it feels like the end is just over the horizon, close yet still unattainable. The only reason he’s even reading it in the first place is because he promised Lottie that he would suffer through it with her, and now they’re both stuck reading it. Sometimes Louis wishes that he didn’t try so hard to be a good brother.

He’s been trying to read in different positions to keep himself going, and he finishes off one chapter lying on his stomach with his head hanging over the edge of the bed, book resting on the floor in front of him. The only way he can see the text is with his glasses on, and they keep sliding down his nose, but he’s pretty determined to finish the chapter before moving.

Once he’s finally finished, he flicks the book closed and tosses it towards the chair on the other side of the room, wincing when it falls short and lands on the floor. He stretches and rolls over, wiggling down on the bed so his head is no longer hanging over the edge.

Harry’s looking at him. It’s a slow, hungry look, written clear on his face as though he’s not even trying to hide it.

“Wow, really?” Louis asks, propping his head up on his arm. “This is what does it for you? Me reading in my pajamas? After everything else, _this_ is what does it for you?”

A flush crawls its way across Harry’s cheeks. He clears his throat, looking away. “Are you planning on going anywhere today?”

This is interesting information. For the past few weeks, Louis has been trying everything he can think of to make Harry re-think taking this job, and none of it has been working. He’s seen Louis in practically every state of dress other than naked, and it’s the casual, rumpled look that turns him on. There’s other things that have been appealing to him – Louis has caught whiffs of it – but none so overt as this.

Interesting. 

“No,” Louis says, stretching again. “I’m just going to laze around in my pajamas all day and watch you try not to look at me. Is it the pajamas specifically, do you think, or is it more that I was rolling around in a bed with my back to you without even thinking about it? I heard that’s a thing for alphas, that you all like when an omega trusts you enough not to put their guard up.” 

“Are you going to run off if I leave you unsupervised for ten minutes?” Harry asks, completely ignoring everything Louis just said.

Louis is terrible at being ignored. It’s probably one of his worst qualities. He squirms around on the bed, pretending to be trying to get more comfortable, until his shirt is lying an inch or two above his hipbones, exposing a strip of bare skin. “Why? Are you going to go touch yourself in the shower or something?”

Harry blinks, furrow forming between his eyebrows and jaw starting to set. He looks Louis directly in the eyes, frowning. “Stop it,” he says firmly, except he clearly doesn’t know what using that tone of voice will do to Louis. Louis doesn’t even really realize what the tone of voice will do to him – other alphas have used it on him in the past, but all it’s ever done is make him want to laugh.

Hearing it in Harry’s voice, though, it does affect Louis. For a second, he can’t control the way his body reacts, his thighs falling open, creating space between them that Harry could fit into, pulse quickening, skin growing a little warmer. He can’t even bring himself to feel resentful about it, because this pulse of arousal is exactly why he’s gone out of his way to make himself seem like a terrible omega all these years. It’s a rare occurrence. 

Willing himself to get it under control, Louis forces out a rusty laugh. “What do you need ten minutes for, then?”

He doesn’t drop it because Harry told him to. He drops it for his own sanity. Any provocativeness he’s used before has been a ploy, a way to get Harry out of his life. It figures that the first time Harry actually responds to it is when Louis isn’t meaning to do it.

If this was someone else, Louis might give in to it.

“I just need to get something from my bag,” Harry says, dropping it as well. He’s still looking at Louis, and it’s not with the exasperated, impatient look he gets a lot of the time. If Louis stays here by himself he’s going to start obsessing over that look, and he can’t let his brain go there. Not for this particular alpha.

He rolls out of bed, landing more or less on his feet, and gestures towards the door. “Let’s go, then.”

Harry blinks again. The furrow between his eyebrows hasn’t entirely gone away. “You’re going to come with me?”

“Considering that you’re always on about me wandering away and I’m not in the mood for another lecture, that seems like the best option,” Louis says, taking the lead when Harry doesn’t and marching in the direction of Harry’s room.

“If you ever listened and stopped wandering away I wouldn’t have to lecture you about it, would I?” Harry mutters, falling into step behind him.

Louis could be reasonable and ignore that. He could even be reasonable and respond to Harry’s comment reasonably. He’s still feeling a little rattled from the way Harry was looking at him a minute ago, though, and to try to cover that up he responds in a way that’s a little less than reasonable.

Not that Harry should really be surprised by that.

“You don’t have to lecture me about it at all,” Louis says tartly, marching in front of Harry just fast enough that Harry doesn’t fall in step beside him. He’s not trying, but he can feel his arse swaying a bit as he walks, and he can’t help but wonder if Harry’s looking. “You work for me, remember? I can go wherever I want without your permission.”

“Sure,” Harry responds. He sounds a little distracted, like maybe he is looking at Louis’ arse. Louis resists the temptation to shake it a little more. “Tell me that again the next time some old dude is leering at you and you want me to make him go away. Makes it a whole lot easier to do if you haven’t wandered away, huh?”

“How about you shut up?” Louis asks sweetly. Clearly Harry is never going to let that go. If Louis thought he could get away with it he would punch Harry in the dick and run away.

They’re at the door to Harry’s room. It’s closed, but Louis pushes it open without asking or waiting for Harry to do it first and enters. Inside, the room is pretty much bare. It’s much smaller than Louis’, but it’s still a decent size, big enough for a bed and a couple of nightstands, a dresser and a chair. Harry hasn’t done anything to it since he arrived, hasn’t put up any pictures or any personal touches, anything to make it seem like the room is his. He hasn’t even unpacked.

“What the hell is this?” Louis says, stopping a few feet inside and staring at it. “Is this why you banned me from coming in here? Because you’re a weirdo who likes living out of a suitcase and not even unpacking his clothes? You’ve been here for three weeks.”

Harry comes to a halt a few inches behind Louis. Louis knows because he can feel Harry’s body heat at his back, inviting. Apparently Louis needs to go put on a jumper or something. He must be colder than he realizes.

“I’ve been kind of busy running around after you all the time,” Harry says. Louis makes a considering noise, thinking about it. After the first couple of times Louis managed to sneak out, Harry spent a lot more time and effort keeping him from leaving the house without him, to the point where he actually sleeps in Louis’ quarters most nights. In the common room, of course, not in Louis’ bedroom. There’s a door between them and everything. Harry probably has been busy in the time he’s been here.

Still, it’s no excuse. Louis isn’t a twenty-four-seven job.

“This won’t do,” he decides, striding forwards and picking Harry’s bag up off the floor, tossing it onto the bed. “I can’t believe you haven’t even unpacked your clothes, you heathen.”

“Don’t go through my stuff,” Harry says, but he makes no move to stop Louis from doing just that, sitting on the chair and watching instead.

Louis dumps the entire bag out, clothes spilling onto the bed like a tidal wave of material. “I do what I want,” he says. There’s a shocking amount of colour in this pile. So far all Harry’s really worn has been a whole lot of black. Maybe he’s pretending to be emo or something, Louis doesn’t know.

“Are you at least going to fold the clothes?” Harry asks as Louis scoops up an armful of what looks like t-shirts and carries them over to the dresser.

“What do I look like, your maid?” Louis asks, pulling open a drawer at random and dumping his armload into it. 

Behind him, Harry hums. “Well, you are putting away my clothes right now,” he points out.

Be that as it may, Louis is no one’s maid. He doesn’t even like folding his own clothes, much less someone else’s. There’s no way he’s going to fold Harry’s.

“That’s only because you’re a troll who’s used to living under a bridge, not a real human,” Louis informs him, picking up another armload of clothes and taking them to the dresser. “You need to be taught how to behave like a real boy.”

“I’m not sure that you’re one to teach someone how to behave like a normal human being,” Harry says thoughtfully. “Given your complete obliviousness to how most people actually live.”

Louis picks up one of the shirts he just threw down and hurls it over his shoulder without looking. Harry makes a muffle noise in response, which Louis can only take as confirmation that it hit him. A few seconds later, something hits his back in response, sliding down to the floor, but Louis has already won. There’s no reason to continue fighting a war he’s already won.

Picking up as many shirts as he can manage, he turns back around and launches both himself and his weaponry at Harry. Clearly, Harry’s not expecting it, and the entire chair goes toppling over, taking the two of them with it. Louis lands up on top, one of his knees digging into Harry’s stomach, the other planted on the floor beside his hip, more or less straddling him. He doesn’t waste any time shoving a few of the shirts into Harry’s face, trying to cram the rest of them underneath the shirt Harry’s already wearing.

Harry splutters, the sound muffled by the heaps of material Louis has piled on him. “Fuck, get off,” he says, nearly jostling Louis off as he struggles. Louis holds on, clamping his thighs tighter, and puts his hand over Harry’s face to keep him from knocking the shirts off and enabling him to see.

“Say uncle,” Louis demands. Harry’s thrashing isn’t doing too much to unseat him, so Louis just rides it through, shifting his weight and matching his movements to Harry’s.

Belatedly, he realizes that this is definitely flirting. He hadn’t come in here with the intention of flirting, at least not consciously. And Harry – _oh_. Harry’s hands are on his hips, gripping Louis tight instead of pushing him away. Harry’s flirting back, whether he realizes it or not.

“Louis,” Harry says, sharp, going still underneath him. Automatically, Louis clenches his thighs as tight as he can, digging his fingers into Harry’s shoulders, holding on. If Harry’s going to flip them there’s not much Louis can do about it, but he can make damn sure that he doesn’t get dislodged in the process.

Without saying anything else, Harry does flip them. He’s pretty gentle as he does it, making sure to cradle Louis’ head and keep it from hitting the floor. The change in position doesn’t do anything to lessen the obvious flirting that’s going on, but it happens fast enough that Louis still loses his breath in the process, looking up at Harry from underneath his eyelashes, coy.

The scent of arousal is hanging in the air between them. It belongs to both of them, mingling together, and for a second Louis forgets where they are, forgets _who_ they are, an omega looking up at an alpha who wants him and wanting him back.

Then Harry moves, and Louis blinks, and the moment is gone. Harry’s on his feet before Louis even realizes it, holding a hand down to pull Louis up. After a second, Louis takes it, and he doesn’t even attempt to pull Harry down again in the process.

Louis’ pulse is still running a little faster than normal. Harry’s belongings are in even more disarray now than they were before. 

“Your cheeks are a little red,” Louis tells Harry, ghosting his thumb across Harry’s cheekbone before he turns and flees, hightailing it all the way back to his own room. He needs some time to think about what just happened.

 

They make it almost entirely through the next day without mentioning it. Harry’s obviously not talking about it because he’s trying to live in denial and pretend that it didn’t happen in the first place. Louis, though, is trying to find the perfect way to bring it up.

It only took him about twenty minutes to decide that this is a good thing. His plan to make Harry uncomfortable enough to quit involves Harry being attracted to him, but there’s nothing about it that says Louis can’t be attracted to him in return. In fact, it works out in Louis’ favour if that’s the case – it’s easier to try to attract someone he’s attracted to. Much less of a chore that way.

“I’m not going to hold the door open for you all night, you know,” Harry says, breaking Louis out of his thoughts.

“Yeah you are, you’re attracted to me,” Louis says without thinking. It doesn’t make much sense, and it’s not the dramatic situation he envisioned, but it’ll have to do.

Harry raises an eyebrow at him, and then slowly, pointedly, lets the door swing closed with Louis on the other side of it.

Well. That didn’t go exactly as expected. Harry is attracted to him, though. Now that Louis has smelled it once, he can smell it all the time. It hangs in the background for the most part, just there without Louis even having to do anything to illicit the response, which explains why he didn’t notice it for so long. He was working on the assumption that he would have to do something to make Harry attracted to him, but it turns out that Harry’s been attracted to him the whole time. He’s just good at hiding it.

That’s what Louis will do, then. Harry’s attraction to him is kind of like the baseline, normal, so Louis will announce it whenever he wants. Harry’s attracted to him, and Louis is going to make damn sure that they’re both aware of it as often as possible.

 

“Zayn and I are going to go bowling tonight,” Louis informs Harry, leaning up against the doorframe.

Harry’s sitting at a desk, head bent. He doesn’t look up. “No.”

Louis sighs. It’s not an unexpected reaction, but it’s still a little annoying. “You’re mistaking me informing you of something as asking for permission again,” he says. “We both know that I can give you the slip if I try hard enough, so this is me giving you the courtesy of informing you what’s going on.”

At that, Harry does look up. He taps his pen against the paper, considering. Louis crosses his arms over his chest and waits. Whether Harry agrees to it or not, Louis is going bowling with Zayn tonight. One way or another, it’s happening.

“Fine,” Harry says finally. “I’m choosing the place, though, and you’re going to follow every instruction I give you, or else I’m going to make your life very difficult for the next few days.”

Whatever. Louis is definitely more capable of making someone’s life difficult than Harry is. It’s been tried and it’s true. “Yeah, okay.”

Harry narrows his eyes at him. “I’m serious, Louis. Everything I say, you do, otherwise I will drag you out of that place and make a scene for the tabloids to pick up in the morning.”

“I said okay, didn’t I?” Louis says, rolling his eyes and walking away. Overprotective alpha bodyguards, honestly.

 

The bowling alley that Harry picks is dark, grimy and underpopulated. They pay for their lane and their shoes in cash, grab a pitcher of beer, and wait in their lane for Zayn to show up.

They’ve been there for about ten minutes when Louis gets a text from Zayn saying he can’t make it anymore. Something about a burst pipe in his flat.

“Zayn’s not coming anymore,” Louis says, picking up his jacket and standing up to put it on. “We might as well get out of here.”

In the dark, with music pumping through the speakers, no one has noticed Louis yet. No one has even looked over at their lane. Harry is the only person looking at him.

Instead of getting up, Harry asks, “What happened?”

“Pipe burst at his apartment, he’s gotta stay and get it taken care of,” Louis says, shrugging. “Nothing he could have predicted.”

Harry’s still looking at him. There’s emotion written on his face, but Louis can’t decipher it. “How often do you go out?” Harry asks. “Not to clubs or anything, just hanging out with your friends?”

Louis cuts his eyes away, shrugging on his jacket. There’s a small knot of unhappiness in the pit of his stomach. It emerges sometimes, no matter how hard he tries to push it back down. His life is a great one - enough money to burn, a member of the royal family, doing important charity work with most of his time, getting to meet all sorts of interesting and amazing people. It’s a life he won’t complain about, has no reason to complain about. The only thing about it that has ever bothered him is the way he’s treated because he’s an omega. As though he’s a piece of meat to some people, just a boytoy to hang off some alpha’s arm. It’s why he’s made it his mission to act as un-omega-like as possible, try to ward off the skeevy people.

“Let’s just go, alright?” Louis says, tucking his hands into his pockets, swaying a little with the music.

Harry stands up, but he doesn’t make any move to leave. Instead, he picks up a bowling ball, testing its weight. “No, I think I want to bowl now. You’re probably scared that you’re going to lose and that’s why you want to leave. I am an excellent bowler, after all.”

Well, that’s just an affront to Louis’ character. He’s an excellent bowler and has never lost a game in his life. He narrows his eyes back at Harry. “You’re on.”

 

Within three frames, it becomes obvious that Harry is a terrible bowler. Louis would have assumed that he’s actually good at it, given the need to have good aim with a gun in his chosen career. Turns out Louis would have been wrong.

“Wow,” Louis remarks, after a frame in which Harry has failed to hit a single pin, “You’re really bad at this.”

Honestly, Louis isn’t that great of a bowler himself. He’s alright, but alright is nothing to write home about. That being said, he’s still about ten times better than Harry is.

Harry huffs and returns to his seat, pulling his foot up so he can re-tie his shoelace. “I just need a few frames to get into the groove of things. I haven’t bowled in a while.”

Right. That’s a good excuse. Definitely one Louis believes.

“No, you’re just a terrible bowler,” Louis says. He takes a long swig of his drink before he stands up to take his turn, sashaying to the the front of the lane, taking his time lining up his shot before he sends the ball down.

He gets a strike. Behind him, Harry whistles, loud and sharp, cheering him on. Louis turns around, throwing his hands in the air, and does a victory dance, complete with a moonwalk and everything.

Despite all the noise they’re making, no one looks over at them. Louis is grudgingly able to admit that Harry picked a good place for this excursion.

 

As the night wears on, Harry gets progressively worse. Louis drinks most of the pitcher by himself, only a bit left for him to finish, and his aim stays the same, missing a lot of the pins but still hitting enough that he has no concerns about Harry beating him.

“You are honestly so bad at this, I don’t know why you suggested that we stay,” Louis says. He kicks his feet up onto the chairs in their lane, leaning back, sipping at his beer. 

Harry comes back from taking his turn, swatting Louis’ feet out of the way so he can sit down. “Just because you’re bad at something doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy it.”

Louis kicks his feet back up, into Harry’s lap. He’s pleasantly buzzed and doesn’t feel like getting up quite yet. “You’re a sore loser, aren’t you,” he says knowingly. The pinched expression on Harry’s face gives him away. “Do you want me to pretend to be bad just so you can win?”

“I’m man enough to lose with grace,” Harry says. He doesn’t bat Louis’ feet down, stretching an arm out across the back of the seats.

He’s a liar. It’s kind of delightful.

“Sure you are,” Louis says. “I bet some of those tattoos are a result of you losing with grace, too.” He pokes at Harry’s bare arm for emphasis.

Harry looks down at his arm. “What, these? Why would you think I lost a bet and had to get a tattoo?”

“Seriously?” Louis asks. “You mean to tell me that you got a tattoo of a meremaid with her tits hanging out of your own volition?” He pokes at that particular tattoo, right in the mermaid’s belly button.

“There’s nothing obscene about breasts, Louis,” Harry drawls. He doesn’t move his arm away from Louis’ touch. “Besides, you’re one to talk, you literally have a tattoo of Pac-Man on your arm. Are you even old enough to truly have appreciated the wonders of Pac-Man?”

Louis shifts his weight. These plastic chairs are making his arse hurt. “You’re younger than me,” he objects. “And yes, Pac-Man was a way of life for me when I was younger. Video games are kind of my thing.”

“Right,” Harry says, rolling his eyes. “You do realize that I already know how much of a nerd you are, right? I know all about your fondness for black and white movies and classic literature.”

Somehow, Louis’ elbow finds its way into Harry’s ribs. He has no idea how. “I’m not a nerd,” he insists. “If anything, you’re the nerd with your ship tattoo and the laurels and the mermaid. Are you going for a nautical theme or something? Trying to be a pirate?”

He might have paid a little too much attention that time he saw Harry with his shirt off. Louis will never tell, though.

“Really?” Harry asks, laughter in his voice. It’s a soft, musical kind of laughter. “You’re judging me for my nautical tattoos with your compass and your rope and your skull and crossbones? That’s the road you want to take?”

Louis chooses not to deign that with an answer. Harry laughs again, nudging Louis’ side. “Are you planning on taking your turn anytime today?”

“I’m going,” Louis says. “But just for the record, you’re attracted to me.”

He gets up and goes to pick up his ball, swaying his arse over-dramatically. This time, he gets a spare.

 

Louis wins both games they play. Like he thought, Harry takes his loss with ill grace. It’s kind of hilarious.

 

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Zayn asks, pressing a bottle of beer against Louis’ arm. It’s cold against his skin, damp with condensation. Louis takes it, twisting the cap off.

“He’s on the phone with his mum,” Louis says. “And he’s not my boyfriend.”

He takes a long, slow swig of his beer and picks up the remote to find something to watch. It’s the middle of the afternoon, so even with every channel available to them, that’s a bit of a challenge.

“Tell that to E!” Zayn says. “They’ve been running a series of articles about the two of you for the past couple of weeks. There’s some pretty crazy theories in there.”

_Ha_. Louis totally called it. “Like what? Are there any about him actually being in uni and pretending to be my bodyguard?”

Zayn looks over at him, frowning. “What’s _wrong_ with you?” he asks. “You have a seriously overactive imagination, you know that?”

Louis has been told that before, strangely enough.

“Most of them are that you’re secretly engaged to him and that your family doesn’t approve of the marriage because he’s a commoner,” Zayn continues. “There’s a bunch that say you two have known each other for years, too.”

The engagement thing might almost be better than Louis’ idea. “I’ll give you ten pounds to buy a copy of the next article they run about us.”

He has to have evidence of it. He’s thinking that he’ll gather up a whole bunch of different articles and then plaster Harry’s room with them. There will really be no getting away from it then.

“Sometimes I forget how much of a freak you are,” Zayn says. He grabs the remote out of Louis’ hand and changes it to the history channel, which is playing some kind of boring documentary. Obviously, that can’t stand, so Louis tackles him right off the couch.

They struggle on the floor for a few minutes before Louis wins by threatening to yank out strands of Zayn’s hair. Then, because the floor is pretty comfortable and the couch is a few feet away, they stay on the floor, doomed to watch the boring documentary with the remote too far away to reach.

“I have no idea what to make of this,” Harry says from behind them. Louis doesn’t even turn to look at him, flipping him off over his shoulder.

Harry sits down on the couch. His legs are close to Louis’ back, and Louis has always hated sitting without having something to lean back against, so he leans back against Harry’s shins, holding a hand up in the air. “Pass the remote.”

The remote thuds into Louis’ hand, and Louis is finally back in control. He finds a channel playing _Transformers_ just to make Zayn wrinkle his nose and complain about how it’s not true to the original subject matter. It’s already halfway through, but Louis tucks the remote under his thighs just in case someone tries to change it. He’ll suffer through just about anything if it makes Zayn suffer more.

Louis shuffles a bit on the rug, pulling his knee up to his chest and laying his cheek against Harry’s knee, attention fixed on the telly. Once the film is over, Harry nudges him out of the way so he can get up and disappears into the bathroom.

Zayn is watching him critically. “Not your boyfriend, huh?” he says.

Louis scoffs and stretches before he climbs up onto the couch. “Just because I want to suck his dick doesn’t mean he’s my boyfriend,” he says sensibly. “I’ll settle for getting laid.”

He would. He’s pretty sure that Harry would just put him wherever he wanted Louis to be, and that knowledge always makes Louis’ blood run a little hotter.

Zayn’s still staring at him judgmentally. Louis does the mature thing and throws a piece of candy at him, effectively changing the subject.

 

“Take cover!” Louis shouts, lobbing a water balloon over his head before diving behind a hedge. There’s a breathless curse in response that’s clearly being muffled for the sake of Louis’ younger siblings. It says that his projectile hit its target.

Delighted laughter rings through the courtyard. Louis is running low on ammo, and he’s already soaked head to toe from Daisy and Felicite ganging up on him a few minutes ago. There’s a container still full of balloons about eight feet away, but it’s in the middle of no man’s land.

Through the hedges, he can see Harry climbing back to his feet. He’d wiped out on the wet grass a minute ago, which Louis obviously took as an opportunity to hit him with three balloons in a row. Retaliation is coming, which means Louis needs to come up with a plan, and quick.

There’s really only one option. Louis scrambles back onto his feet, running full tilt to the container, dodging limbs and siblings along the way. He digs his toes into the soft earth as he goes, trying to keep his balance, and he’s almost there, balloon nearly in hand - 

The breath gets knocked out of him as Harry hauls him right up off his feet and over his shoulder. Louis shouts, hammering his fists against Harry’s back. “No, no, no!”

“Oooh, you’re in trouble,” Daisy singsongs from behind him. Louis struggles, trying to fight his way free, but it’s useless. Harry’s grip is too strong.

Louis grips the bottom of Harry’s wet shirt with both hands, yanking it up, trying to distract him. He knows where Harry is heading, and it’s not anywhere good. He slaps at Harry’s bare back, pinching his skin, trying to get enough leverage to twist away - 

Harry sets him down on the ground and turns the hose on him. A shock of cold water doses Louis’ entire body, soaking him even further. Louis shrieks and tries to get away from it, holding his hands up to protect his face.

“Uncle, uncle!” he cries, hunching in on himself. The water is like ice against his skin, sending his teeth chattering and goosebumps prickling up on his arms.

About thirty seconds later, the hose turns off. What a prick. He could have turned it off when Louis admitted defeat, but instead he gave it some extra time just to torture him.

“Are you ever going to learn your lesson?” Harry asks, amused. Louis blinks up at him, wet hair dripping into his eyes, and slowly crumples down to the ground, face first. He doesn’t say anything, lying splayed out, limbs lax, and waits for attention.

It doesn’t take long to get it. Of course, it’s not exactly the way Louis wanted to get it. Harry hauls him back up like he’s a ragdoll, slinging him back over his shoulder, and it’s not the most opportune position, but he’ll have to take it. He shoves two handfuls of loose mud down the back of Harry’s shirt.

As soon as he feels it, Harry stops walking. “What was that?” he demands, arm tight against the back of Louis’ thighs. “Louis, what was that?”

Across the lawn, someone is cackling with laughter. One of the twins, maybe. The sound is bright and infectious, and even if Louis can’t tell who it is it still makes him smile in response. “Nothing,” he replies sweetly, wiping off the excess mud on Harry’s shirt. It’s still wet, so the mud actually comes off pretty well. His hands come away more or less clean.

“Louis,” Harry says sharply, forearm pressing harder against Louis’ legs, “Was that mud? Did you just shove mud down my shirt?”

There’s no escaping this position. Maybe Louis should have thought this through before he did it. It’s too late now, though.

“I can neither confirm nor deny any accusations you choose to make about my character,” Louis informs him haughtily. It might have a better effect if he wasn’t currently dangling over Harry’s shoulder with all the blood rushing to his head.

Harry flips him back down to the ground, holding Louis by the arms this time so he can’t escape. “You shoved mud down my shirt, didn’t you.”

Jesus, how many times is he going to go on and on about the mud before he gets the hint that Louis isn’t going to confirm it? It’s like he doesn’t know Louis at all. There’s no way that he’s admitting to it.

Instead, Louis shrugs, making his face go all pouty and non-threatening and tangles his hands in the hem of Harry’s t-shirt, shrugging. “Does it feel like I shoved mud down the back of your shirt?”

Harry stares at him, using his height and his weight to hover over Louis, wet from the water balloon fight, expression clouded by the light of the sun shining behind him. He smells dusty, ripe with pine, and he looks like he wants to take Louis somewhere private and smack his arse a few times, make him apologize.

Louis wouldn’t object to any of that.

“Strangely enough, it does,” Harry says finally. His hands slide down Louis’ arms to grip him by the wrists instead, and everything else just kind of floats away. He doesn’t protest as Harry leads him somewhere, can’t protest, just stumbles along, mouth dry and arousal thickening in his veins.

This went from a fun afternoon activity to a declaration of war on Louis’ senses so fast his head is spinning. He breathes in Harry’s scent, knowing that his eyes are getting a little wild at the corners, following where Harry is leading, following where his alpha is leading - 

More cool water hits him as Harry throws him into the pool. Louis stays submerged for as long as he can hold his breath. It helps to remind him that now isn’t the time or place for any of these thoughts. Not in front of his family.

 

“We could stop at Starbucks,” Louis says, tapping the window pointedly. Harry grunts and doesn’t open his eyes, head tipped back against the head rest. He looks a little green around the edges, a fact Louis is a bit delighted by. A delight that Louis isn’t making any effort to hide.

Apparently Harry is a little under the weather. He’s claiming that it’s only a headache, but the green tint to his skin is a pretty good indication that it’s something more. His stubbornness also apparently outdoes Louis’ – he’s refused to take the day off. Something about the last time he had a day off and Louis escaping from his assigned security detail. Whatever. The only concession Harry has made is to allow two extra bodyguards to accompany them, presumably to keep an extra eye out.

“C’mon, a tea will do you good,” Louis coaxes, fingers on the door handle. Honestly, if he hadn’t already committed to this interview months ago he wouldn’t have even left the house today. He’s feeling kind of cranky himself, like he could use another hour’s sleep. 

“We’ll be late if we stop,” Harry says, eyes still closed, as though they haven’t been sitting in stop-and-go traffic for the past fifteen minutes. They’re already going to be late, Louis doesn’t see the harm in a few extra minutes.

“So we’ll be a few minutes late,” Louis says. “What are they going to do, start the interview without me?”

On a normal day, Harry would open his eyes and give Louis an amused but disapproving look, refuse to stop and herd Louis to his destination. Today, though, he just heaves a sigh and opens his eyes, says, “Alright.”

Alright. Great. Louis opens his door, sliding out of the car easily. Harry climbs out after him, catching the back of Louis’ shirt when he goes to start walking without him and pulling him back. 

“I’ve got a headache, I haven’t turned into a completely different person,” Harry says. “If you try to ditch me in there I’m going to tell your mum.”

Louis laughs, waiting for Harry to close the car door behind them before he starts walking again. Harry doesn’t release the back of his shirt. “You’re even more of a dick when you’re ill,” he says, admiring. Normally Harry wouldn’t outright threaten to tattle on Louis to his mother. It’s actually kind of nice. Very upfront.

The walk into the shop is short and uneventful. Harry stays crowded at Louis’ back the entire time, less watchful than he normally is. Louis has to assume that’s because of the other two bodyguards a few steps behind them. There’s almost no queue, so they don’t have to wait long before it’s their turn to order.

Harry’s still pretty much draped over Louis’ back the entire time. It makes them look like a couple, Louis knows. He doesn’t mind. In fact, he takes kind of a perverse satisfaction out of it. It won’t be the first time they’re linked as a couple in the tabloids, and Harry never helps matters by dressing as casually as he does. He’s never mentioned it one way or another, and Louis has taken to doing everything he can to fuel those flames.

“We’ll have four grande teas to go please, love,” Louis tells the barista, pretending not to realize that she’s recognized him. Harry’s breath is hot and a little sour at the base of Louis’ neck like it’s been a few hours since he’s brushed his teeth, and Louis doesn’t even mind.

It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. Ever since he hit puberty and realized the full extent of being a royal omega, Louis has done everything in his power to avoid being linked to an alpha for any more than a day or two. When it’s Harry, though, he doesn’t mind. He’s been living vicariously through Zayn, making him buy every tabloid they make an appearance on and send him pictures of the articles. Sometimes he cuts them out and leaves them in Harry’s room or his bag or whatever book he’s in the middle of reading.

Harry’s _fun_ , is the thing. He had a strangely accurate sense of exactly how far to let Louis go before he reels him back, and no matter what Harry says he encourages most of Louis’ antics. None of his other bodyguards have been anything like Harry is.

Before long, Louis has paid and accepted the teas from the barista. He drops a good tip into the jar before heading back towards the door, pulling Harry along behind him. Once they’re back in the car, he distributes the teas among himself, Harry and the other two bodyguards, dumping a couple of packages of sugar into Harry’s before giving it to him. 

Harry’s already gone back to sitting with his head tipped back against the seat, eyes closed, fingers curled loosely around the cup. “Do you think you would still be able to catch me right now if I took off?” Louis asks curiously, taking a sip of his tea.

“Yes,” Harry says immediately. “You run slow.”

It’s a moot point anyway. Traffic has finally started to move. It’s still a slow crawl, but they’re moving. Maybe Louis will test it on the way home instead.

Still, Louis has a reputation to uphold. “I run plenty fast, I’ll have you know.”

Cracking a single eye open, Harry looks over at him, taking a long sip of his tea. “You do realize that I’ve spent every day of the past three months with you, right? You only run when you’re trying to avoid something, and you don’t even do it that well.”

Louis can run if he wants to. He just doesn’t want to, that’s all. Everyone looks strange when they run, the last thing he needs to do is give the tabloids something else to mock him about.

“Yeah, well, you look like you’re in agony when you run, so excuse me for not wanting to put myself through that,” Louis retorts. “Shut up and drink your tea before it gets cold.”

Harry closes his eye again, amused smirk curling the edges of his mouth, and takes another sip of his tea. The only reason Louis doesn’t stretch and ‘accidentally’ knock Harry’s tea into him is because they’re in a moving car and the ensuing struggle would probably be distracting to the driver.

 

They end up being half an hour late for the interview, which isn’t actually Louis’ fault. He was up and ready to go only ten minutes after the time Harry told him to be ready for, and Harry always tells him to be ready at least twenty minutes before they actually need to leave. The traffic is to blame for this tardiness, and Louis strolls into the building knowing that. He’s long since finished his tea, and the stop seemed to perk Harry up, because he’s on point, steering Louis to the right place without a single hiccup.

He’s greeted by the unimpressed faces of the hair and make-up team and an exasperated P.A. who keeps glancing down at her clipboard every five seconds. She’s probably seen people more famous than Louis come through here, and she’s clearly not excited by it anymore, if she ever was.

“I’m so sorry for my tardiness, Michelle,” Louis begins, taking the P.A.’s hand and shaking it, making sure that the gesture is heartfelt and an appropriate length. Bob fed Harry the names of the staff on the way here, and Harry murmured them into Louis’ ear just before they entered the room. Being greeted by name is a sign of respect, and Louis has always made a point of insisting that all the staff are greeted as such, not just the interviewers or the hosts.

Unfortunately, his memory isn’t big enough to match the names to the faces of everyone he meets, so he needs some help in that area.

“What can I do to make your job easier today?” he continues, releasing Michelle’s hand. “Point me in the right direction and I’ll go wherever you need, no questions asked.”

In his experience, helping someone do their job effectively is a pretty decent way to get into their good graces. Louis doesn’t particularly want to do this interview, but that doesn’t mean he has to take it out on the people who are just doing their jobs.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Michelle says, wearing a smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes. “If we could just get you into hair and make-up we can get the cameras set up.”

Louis goes where she points. He can feel Harry watching him, assessing him in a way that feels a little strange. No doubt Harry will have something to say after this.

The interview doesn’t exactly fly by, but it doesn’t drag, either. Louis is personable and relatable, clinging to his wild child persona just enough that no one is going to see through it, and two hours later they’re back in the car.

Harry’s staring straight ahead, fatigue written on his face. It seems like he’s only awake through sheer force of will. Louis wouldn’t care if he went to sleep – they’re in a moving car with a professional driver and two other bodyguards, so it’s not like anything is going to happen. He knows that Harry’s too much of a control freak to actually do that, though, so he doesn’t suggest a nap.

“You better not get me sick,” Louis says. Harry’s hand is resting on the middle seat, only an inch or two away from Louis’. Louis wiggles his fingers a little closer, slowly, until they’re almost touching, making sure to keep looking straight ahead.

“I’m not sick,” Harry says. He doesn’t pull his hand away, even though he must be able to feel how close Louis’ fingers are. Louis hides a small, secret smile behind his other hand and doesn’t comment on Harry’s obvious lie.

 

“Get out of my way,” Louis hisses, clenching his fists at his sides. He wants to reach up at shove Harry out of the way, and the only reason he doesn’t is because he’s pretty sure that it wouldn’t actually get him anywhere.

Harry sighs heavily. It reminds Louis of the way Franco used to sigh when Louis was a child and prone to throwing temper tantrums over nothing. The comparison is rankling, unflattering, and makes Louis want to throw a temper tantrum.

He doesn’t, because he’s 25 years old and has had his manners drilled into him for his entire life, but he wants to.

“Can this be the one day we don’t have to go through this?” Harry asks. He’s blocking the only exit, and unless Louis wants to jump out the window there’s no way he’s getting past unless Harry decides to move.

Louis is still considering the window option. It’s been that kind of day.

“Every day could be that day if you quit,” Louis says. “You always have that option.”

After he says it, he notices the tension on Harry’s face. It’s slight, but it’s not the look he has when Louis is frustrating him. This is something different. And – look, Louis doesn’t want to care. He really doesn’t. Caring means that he’s invested, and that means he won’t try as hard to drive Harry away, and that means that his reputation is going to change. And he doesn’t want that.

“Yeah,” Harry says. “Seeing as I’m not going to do that, how about you stop being a brat for five minutes and let me have a little peace?”

Louis’ mouth might actually be hanging open. No one speaks to him like that. He’s a member of the royal family, and no matter how bad his behaviour is no one actually tells him that to his face. At least, not anyone he’s not related to. No matter how many times Harry does it, he’ll never get used to it. Especially not when Harry sounds sharp, like he might actually mean it.

He never sounds like that when he says things like this.

“You have a lot of nerve,” Louis says. “You’re so lucky my mother won’t let me fire you, otherwise I would make sure you would never be able to find work with royals ever again.”

Harry sighs, gesturing towards a chair. “You make a lot of empty threats, you know that?” he asks. “Sit.”

Louis sits, but not because Harry told him to. His legs are tired and he wants to. Plus he’s lulling Harry into a false sense of security so he can bolt the second Harry’s not looking.

“What’s crawled up your arse, then?” he asks. “Not that you ever have a lot of patience, but you’re particularly not patient today.”

“Think the word for that might be impatient,” Harry tells him, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest. He looks like he hasn’t slept in about a week, which Louis knows isn’t the case as he’s been really tired lately and hasn’t even attempted to sneak out. His behaviour has been pretty good, actually.

“No it’s not,” Louis says. “It’s not like you’re impatient, exactly, you’re just not exactly patient, either.”

There’s a smile threatening at the corners of Harry’s lips. Louis leans back in his chair and pulls his feet up, making himself comfortable.

“Thanks for that. Really helpful,” Harry says. He’s looking at Louis, like he always seems to be, and it feels like more than just a watchful look. 

To be fair, though, it always has.

“So tell me what’s wrong, then,” Louis demands. He has a stick of gum in his pocket, still wrapped, and he throws it at Harry. Harry doesn’t even bother batting it away, letting it hit him on the chest. “You won’t let me out of this room, and there’s nothing to do in here, so you might as well tell me, keep me occupied for a few minutes.”

“Wow, you could almost be a therapist, you’re so concerned about everyone else’s well-being,” Harry says, deadpan.

Louis doesn’t have any other random objects in his pockets, but there is a vase of marbles sitting near his elbow, so he plucks one of those out and throws it instead. Harry catches this one, rolling his eyes. “It’s just family stuff,” he says.

No other information seems to be forthcoming. Louis throws another marble.

“You’re going to break something, and I’m going to get blamed for not keeping you in line,” Harry says, catching the second marble as easily as he had the first. He doesn’t seem bothered by the idea. “It’s nothing, alright? Just some family drama. Nothing like the kind of stuff your family goes through.”

Louis digs his entire hand into the vase, pulling out of a fistful of the marbles and holding them up threateningly.

“My mum is a little upset that I won’t be able to see her on her birthday, that’s all,” Harry says, holding his hands up in defeat. “She gets why, but that doesn’t make it any easier.”

That’s all it is? That’s nothing. “So go to see her on her birthday, then,” Louis says, lowering his arm.

Harry scoffs, leaning back against the wall even more somehow. “And leave you unsupervised? By the time I come back you’ll probably be dead.”

Okay, that’s a little rude. For once, Louis chooses to be the bigger person and ignores the insult. “You know that we actually have other guards in our employ, right? It may seem shocking to you, but my family is kind of a big deal.”

“Right,” Harry says. “Next you’re going to tell me that you aren’t going to run off the second I leave, too. All the younger guards are scared of you and the ones that have been around for a while are too easy on you. None of them would actually be able to stop you from taking off whenever you want.”

He’s not exactly wrong, and the look on his face says that he knows it. Louis shrugs a shoulder, offhand, and says, “So I’ll come with you, then.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s a great idea,” Harry says. “Let me just go up to the bloody Queen of England and say, hey, I’m gonna steal your son for the weekend to go on a really irresponsible weekend getaway to see my mum for her birthday, that’s okay, right?”

“Perfect!” Louis says, scrambling out of his chair and making a dash for the door, only managing to skid around the arm Harry puts out to catch him because he’s wearing socks on the hardwood floors. “I’ll go tell her now!”

 

Louis makes it to his mother’s office first, but only because he slams three doors in Harry’s face and knocks over a pitcher of water so Harry has to skid around it. When he gets there, Louis is out of breath and dishevelled, and he knows Harry is right behind him.

Wasting no time, he blurts out, “Mum, Harry’s going to go visit his family for a few days and he’s taking me with him!”

Harry bursts into the room behind him. Louis flinches a little, half expecting to be hauled out of the room altogether. His mum looks up at him, then at Harry behind him, eyebrows raising slowly. “He is, is he?” she asks.

“Yup!” Louis says, shuffling forward, out of Harry’s reach. “It’s his mother’s birthday, so he’s going to go surprise her, but he doesn’t trust me not to get into trouble when he’s gone.”

“Smart lad,” his mum says. “But he doesn’t think that showing up with a member of the royal family might overshadow his mother’s day a little?”

Harry hasn’t said anything yet. Louis doesn’t look over his shoulder to see if he’s going to. “Oh no,” he says easily. “Harry’s mum is a big fan of the royal family, you see, and him showing up with me is a gift all on its own.” He tacks a winning smile onto his face at the end of the statement.

“Right,” his mum says. “Well, of course Harry can have the time off to see his family, and if he wants to take you with him he can certainly do that too. But don’t go forcing him to take you places if it’s going to spoil his holiday, Louis.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Louis protests, and turns around to push Harry out the door before his mum can scoff too loudly. 

They get all the way down the hallway and around a corridor and Harry still hasn’t said anything. His hands have come up to grip Louis’ wrists, but he’s not pulling them down, and he’s still letting Louis push him farther away from the office. He looks a little shell-shocked, like he can’t believe this is happening. Louis rolls his eyes, kicking at Harry’s foot as they walk.

“You just asked the Queen of England if I could steal one of her children and she said yes,” Harry says blankly.

“What did you think she was going to say?” Louis asks, raising an eyebrow. “No, Harry Styles, I don’t trust you to protect my firstborn son even though that’s literally your job? I think that the second you leave this property you’re going to shirk your responsibilities and let him get kidnapped?”

Harry sighs, using his grip on Louis’ wrists to pull his hands down. “Just because your mother agreed doesn’t mean that it’s going to happen.”

“So when do we leave, then?” Louis asks. “Friday morning?”

“We’re not going,” Harry says firmly.

 

“Do you want me to drive?” Louis asks, bouncing on his toes. He’s already had two cups of tea, and it might only be eight a.m. but he’s been awake for a while. He can’t remember the last time he had a holiday that didn’t involve rubbing elbows with a bunch of people trying to get something from him. He’s looking forward to it.

“Absolutely not,” Harry says, pulling the door of the driver’s side open and getting into the car. Louis makes a face and gets in as well, reaching around to the backseat to toss his laptop bag down. 

“I’m an excellent driver, I’ll have you know,” Louis says. Sitting next to Harry in the car, he feels a bit overdressed in his slacks and pressed jumper. Harry’s wearing a black hoodie and ripped jeans, and it’s not like that’s a surprise - Harry tried to talk him out of coming two hours ago, and he was already fully dressed then. 

Louis isn’t going to show up to someone’s house for the first time looking like a slob, though. He has appearances to keep up, and while he may be known for making the news with his antics, he’s not going to spoil someone’s birthday by acting like a rich brat.

“I’m sure you are,” Harry says, appeasing, “but I’m pretty sure that you don’t know any defensive driving techniques, and I’m not going to be in a car with you without someone who has that training behind the wheel.”

It’s hard to ignore the way Harry smells in a confined space like this, warm and earthy. He’s wearing cologne, the same one he always does, but it’s not doing much to cover up the base of his scent. They’ve spent enough time together by now that Louis can tell when Harry’s in the room without even needing to open his eyes, and that’s – it’s comforting, actually. He hates to admit it, especially because he’s the one at fault, but none of his previous bodyguards had stuck around long enough for that to happen with them. It’s a bit of a strange feeling, knowing that it goes both ways and that Harry will never have any problems finding Louis in a crowded room.

“I do, actually,” Louis says, leaning back in his seat and settling in for the ride. “Learning it is the only way my parents would let any of their children get a driver’s license.”

He doesn’t prop his feet up onto the dashboard, but only because he knows Harry would just smack them down again. Harry glances at him out of the corner of his eye, navigating the roads easily. There’s something in his face Louis can’t pinpoint, something unreadable.

“You’re my responsibility,” Harry says finally. “The last thing I’m going to do is let something happen to you.”

For some reason, the statement sends a pang through Louis’ chest. He ignores it, reaching down into his bag for the snacks he piled in there. It’s only a forty-five minute drive to Harry’s mother’s house, but Louis doesn’t get to escape London much, at least not without a whole bunch of media attention surrounding the excursion. He’s going to take advantage of this opportunity.

“I brought you some crisps,” he says, holding up the bag. “You want some now?”

“What kind are they?” Harry asks. 

Louis sighs dramatically, shaking the bag vigorously. “Do one nice thing for you and you act like an ungrateful brat,” he says, pulling the crisps back to his chest. “If you don’t want them I’ll just eat them by myself.”

Harry reaches out and snatches the bag out of Louis’ grasp. “No, I want them.” He glances down at them, then back up at the road. “You didn’t open them.”

Satisfied, Louis sits back and crosses his arms over his chest. “Nope.”

There’s a minute of silence before Harry sighs. “Can you open them for me, please?”

 

Louis gets out of the car, stretching for a few seconds before closing the door. “Are my trousers wrinkled?” he asks, craning his head over his shoulder to try to get a look at his own arse.

“No,” Harry answers without looking, getting their bags out of the trunk. “I don’t know why you wore proper trousers anyway. It’s not like we’re going to a nice restaurant or something. It’s just my mum’s house.”

“Okay, first off, you didn’t even look,” Louis says, counting off on his fingers. “Second, it says a lot about you that you think trousers count as nice clothing. They’re just regular trousers, it’s not like they’re part of a suit or something. Third, you’re a terrible son for thinking that you shouldn’t show up to your mother’s house looking nice. It’s very disrespectful, actually.”

When Louis looks back up, Harry’s looking at him again, arms folded and resting against the hood of the car, expression some kind of mix between amused and patient. As though he doesn’t mind waiting for Louis to finish his rant, like there’s nowhere else he has to be.

“Does it matter to you that much?” Harry asks, propping his chin on his palm. “Looking respectable when you meet my mother?”

Louis swallows. He has to ignore all the implications of that sentence, because no matter how much it sounds like something, it’s really not. They’re not a couple, and Harry only agreed to bring Louis with him because he’s a paranoid bastard who doesn’t trust the rest of the security team to keep him in check for two days. That’s all it is.

“Am I rumpled or not?” Louis demands, trying to smooth down the fabric covering his arse. It takes a bit of coordination, and he almost misses the way Harry’s eyes linger on his arse as he does it.

Almost.

“You’re fine,” Harry says. “Can we go inside now or are you going to make us stand out here for another ten minutes while my family peers at us from the living room?”

The curtain on the living room window is swaying gently. Louis keeps his face under control, because he’s got years of media training behind him, but he wants to smile.

“Okay, we’re ready,” he says, starting off towards the front door. “Bring the bags, would you?” 

Behind him, Harry heaves a great, over-dramatic sigh. Louis ignores him, reaching out and ringing the doorbell. It doesn’t take long for someone to pull the door open, and Louis puts on his most winning smile.

“Hello!” he says. “I’m Louis Tomlinson. You must be Mrs. Styles. It’s so lovely to meet you!”

Mrs. Styles blinks a little. Now Louis knows where Harry gets it from. “I – it’s nice to meet you as well, Prince Louis,” she says, clearly a little flustered.

Harry elbows him out of the way before Louis has a chance to say much more, assure her that there’s no need for formalities or anything like that. “Happy birthday, mum,” he says, grabbing his mother in a giant hug that lifts her right off her feet. 

Louis stands off to the side, watching. He always had a feeling that this is how Harry would be with his family – loud, exuberant, definitely tactile. Sometimes Louis could swear that he sees Harry reaching out, absentminded, to touch the small of Louis’ back as they’re walking or to squeeze the base of his neck as he’s passing. He’s never actually completed the action, pulling away just in time.

“I brought you a present,” Harry says, setting his mother back down on the ground and gesturing at Louis. “There’s only a thirty day grace period for returns, though, so you’ll have to let me know if you want me to take him back.”

“Harry,” Louis says slowly, looking between the two of them, the amused, self-satisfied smile on Harry’s face, the happy but confused look on his mother’s, “Did you not tell your mother that you were bringing me?”

Harry just called him a present. As though he thinks Louis is a gift. No one’s ever talked about him like that before. And yeah, Louis gets that it’s a joke, that it’s a way to ease the unfamiliarity on this doorstep, but there’s also something truthful about it. An undercurrent of honesty.

There’s a warm glow in the pit of Louis’ stomach. He wants to rub at it and has to stop himself from giving in to the urge.

“I was still hoping that I would find a way to get rid of you before I got here,” Harry says. He puts his hands on Louis’ shoulders and pushes him inside, kicking the door closed behind them.

Mrs. Styles sighs. “I don’t know how you haven’t been fired yet,” she tells Harry. “Louis, would you like a tour?”

“I would love a tour,” Louis says brightly. “Especially if it comes with tales of all of Harry’s most embarrassing moments.”

At his side, Harry huffs out a low breath, half amused, half complaining. Louis ignores him, following Harry’s mother through the house, making appropriate remarks and reactions where necessary. It’s a nice house, well decorated and homey. Pictures are framed on the walls, Harry and his sister the subjects of most of them. Louis takes his time examining each and every single one of them.

Harry’s whole life has been captured in this house, on these walls. There’s pictures of him as baby all the way up to one that must have been taken recently, judging by the haircut and tattoo combination.

“When is this from?” Louis asks, tapping the picture in question. Harry’s laughing in it, head tipped down, hair falling into his face. He’s sitting on a chair with a guitar in his lap, fingers resting on the strings. He’s wearing a plain black t-shirt, and he looks happy.

“Oh, that’s from Gemma’s last birthday,” Mrs. Styles tells him, smiling fondly at the picture. “Harry wrote her a terrible song about her latest haircut. It was truly awful.”

She sounds incredibly fond of her children. Louis wants to hear as many stories as she’ll tell him. He’s always been good at getting people talking, so by the end of the night he’s gotten at least ten of Harry’s most embarrassing stories out of her.

It’s a good evening.

 

“You don’t need to sleep on the floor, you know,” Louis says, hands folded together on his stomach, staring up at the ceiling. “The bed is plenty big enough for both of us.”

Harry scoffs. Sheets rustle as he moves. Louis wants to look down and see what he’s doing, but he refrains. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I need, my mother barging in in the morning and seeing me in bed with the literal Prince of England.” 

Intrigued, Louis rolls onto his side and props himself up on an elbow, trying to see Harry’s face in the dark. “So that’s the only reason that you don’t want to sleep in the same bed as me? The risk of your mum seeing us?”

“There’s a multitude of reasons,” Harry tells him. “My mum is just the most immediate one.”

Louis can see the vague outline of Harry’s shape on the floor, muddled by the dark and the mound of blankets he’s using as a makeshift mattress. He’s never been a shy person, but the dark makes him feel a little more bold, somehow. “What if you weren’t worried about her, then? We could lock the door.”

Harry laughs, breathless, the sound of it warm and soothing. There’s more rustling, like he can’t find a comfortable position. Louis’ back hurts for him. “Jesus, you’re making it sound like you’re trying to proposition me. Horribly, at that.”

Louis kind of does want to proposition him. All the time, lately. This trip hasn’t done anything to lessen that urge. Seeing Harry with his family, the way they’ve accepted Louis into the fold with only a brief adjustment period, it’s really something. The way he smells, locked up in this small room with Louis, a smaller one than they’ve ever really spent extended periods of time together in, is getting to Louis’ head. It’s more than Louis just reacting to Harry as an eligible alpha.

“I’m just saying, your back is going to hate you in the morning,” Louis says. Neither of them have showered since the morning, and that was probably a bad idea. It’s giving Louis a lot of thoughts about what they would smell like together, intertwined. 

“I’m not going to sleep with you, Louis, so you can just drop it,” Harry says.

Louis drops it. “Do you think your mum had a good birthday?” he asks, turning over onto his stomach and letting his arm dangle over the edge of the bed, fingers a few inches above Harry’s face.

“Yeah,” Harry says immediately. “She told me that she thinks you’re a much more polite boy than the papers make you out to be.”

For some reason, the praise sends a warm flutter through the pit of Louis’ stomach. “My bad boy image precedes me, huh?”

Harry’s laugh is warm, fond. “You’re probably the only person in the world who thinks you have a bad boy image,” he says. “More like troubled, or bratty for the rags that really don’t like you.”

That’s just a dirty lie. Louis knows his reputation goes beyond troubled. He’s invested a lot of time and energy into making sure that’s true.

“I’m pretty sure that your sister thinks you’re doing me,” Louis says, changing the topic. If he stretched his arm out, he could probably brush his fingertips through Harry’s hair.

Harry groans, blankets rustling some more as he turns onto his side. The move brings his shoulder up against Louis’ fingers, warm through his shirt. “Don’t remind me,” he mutters.

“I mean, you did bring the Prince of England into your mother’s home without informing any of them, I can see how she would get that idea,” Louis continues, curling his fingers up into his palm so it doesn’t seem like he’s touching Harry as intentionally. “And you definitely don’t act like you’re employed by me, either. Do you think she’s going to sell the story? If not, do you think I could convince her to?”

Harry groans again, but he doesn’t sound annoyed. He doesn’t move away from Louis’ hand, either. “She likes you,” he says. He sounds slightly horrified by the idea. “I think she wants to team up with you to ruin my life.”

That sounds like an excellent idea. Louis makes a mental note to get her number before leaving. “Do you think she’d give me your baby pictures?”

“Go to sleep,” Harry sighs. Louis drifts off thinking about all the ways he could get Harry’s sister to help torture him.

Just before he falls asleep, he could almost swear that he feels Harry’s fingers come up to tangle with his own.

 

Harry’s childhood home has a pretty spacious backyard with a comfy porch swing. Louis collapses onto it, rolling onto his side and pulling his feet up onto the cushions with the rest of his body. It’s late. The stars are shining brightly, so much clearer here than they ever are in London. The canopy of the swing mostly obscures his view of them, but Louis appreciates them anyway.

He’s a little drunk. It turns out that Harry’s family are big wine drinkers, and they don’t rest until at least five bottles are finished between them. There’s a fire burning, flames dwindling down into embers, and all of Harry’s family has gone to bed, leaving just the two of them outside.

Harry’s watching him from the other side of the fire. He’s sitting on the ground wearing shorts and a hoodie, chin propped up on his palm, light flickering across his face. He must know that Louis is watching him watch, but he doesn’t go to pull his gaze away like he normally does.

“I want to invite your family to London sometime,” Louis says, dropping a bare foot onto the ground to get the swing moving. He doesn’t know where his shoes went. “We can go horseback riding.”

Watching Harry smile feels a little different when Louis has been drinking. Almost a little more intimate. “Have you ever even ridden a horse?”

“No,” Louis admits. “But we can all learn together. It would be fun, don’t you think?”

For a while, all Harry does is look at him. Somehow, Louis finds he doesn’t mind. In the dark, with only the light of the fire between them and the far off porch light of the house behind them, it feels secluded. Like they’re the last two people on Earth.

“Yeah,” Harry says eventually. “It would be.”

Louis didn’t actually come out here to give himself a mini holiday. No one should have to skip their mum’s birthday altogether because of work, even alphas that Louis is trying to get rid of. That being said, it’s kind of felt like one. Louis can’t remember the last time he’s felt this relaxed. At home, people are constantly wanting something from him. For his help with a charity related thing, for an interview or a picture or an autograph, for him to stop screwing around and act like a proper omega, for him to stop screwing around and help the omega rights movement, for him to be something he’s not. And he gets it, he does – there’s responsibilities that come with being part of the royal family – but that doesn’t make it easy.

Here, no one’s expecting anything out of him. He knows Harry’s had one eye on him the entire time, ensuring his safety, but off of the estate grounds, out of London entirely, it’s so much easier to pretend that it’s not just because he’s doing his job. That he’s doing it because it’s his instinct, to ensure his omega’s safety.

“Fuck, it’s cold out,” Louis says, pushing the thoughts to the back of his mind and stretching a hand out. “Come over here and keep me warm.”

He doesn’t realize how much of a line it sounds like until the words have left his mouth. Either Harry doesn’t notice or he’s not in the mood to call Louis out for it, though. He just climbs to his feet, giving the fire a decent berth as he makes his way around it, pulling Louis’ feet up before he sits down on the swing, setting it moving again. Louis drops his feet down into Harry’s lap, tucking his fingers under the hem of his own jumper.

Neither of them say anything for a while. They swing slowly in silence, watching as the fire dies down, embers smoldering in the pit. Harry’s warm beside him, so much so that Louis barely feels the cold anymore. He tries to remind himself that this means nothing, that he and Harry aren’t even _friends_. Harry is just someone who works for him. This is just casual fire watching in a secluded spot. There’s nothing romantic about that.

After a while, Harry’s voice breaks the silence. “Every time I think I have you figured out, you do something to surprise me.” He taps Louis’ ankle for emphasis, and Louis doesn’t think he’s talking about Louis’ lack of shoes. That shouldn’t be surprising by now.

“That’s me, just full of surprises,” Louis jokes, wiggling his toes in the breeze. He should probably put some socks on, but as long as Harry’s here keeping him warm he doesn’t think he has anything to worry about.

“You didn’t have to do this, you know,” Harry continues. “This was a completely unselfish thing to do.”

Louis hums, tucking his face against the cushion so Harry can’t see the uncomfortable way his face is twisting. “Nothing is ever completely unselfish.”

Harry’s fingers come to a stop against Louis’ skin, resting there. He doesn’t seem inclined to move them. Heat spreads through Louis’ belly, low and slow. 

“You don’t have to try so hard to make me believe that you’re everything the papers say you are,” Harry says quietly. “I’m with you all the time, I know what kind of person you are.”

He doesn’t say it like it’s a bad thing. He doesn’t say it like Louis is _irresponsible_ or _mouthy_ or _a trainwreck waiting to happen_ or _a terrible omega_. He says it like Louis is something else entirely. Something better.

Louis doesn’t say anything. Any words he could have come up with are stuck in his throat, unable to be dislodged. Harry’s talking like he can see right through Louis’ exterior and directly into his soul. That’s not possible, though. Louis has spent a long time crafting this exterior, and none of it is an outright lie. There’s some truth to every aspect of it. He exaggerates for the sake of the papers, sure, and to try to limit the amount of proposals his parents receive that are more like business deals than matchmaking, but none of it is actually a lie. He’s not sure that he could live like that.

“I see it, when you take the blame for being late, or read the book your sister is reading for school just so she doesn’t have to suffer through it alone, all the charity work you do that you don’t want to get acknowledged for,” Harry says, gripping Louis’ ankle tight.

A low noise escapes Louis’ throat. He squirms a little, looking at Harry out of the corner of his eyes. Harry doesn’t let go of him, even through all of Louis’ moving, watching him, and god, all of Louis’ instincts are telling him to _spread_ right now, to let Harry in, fill all of his empty places. He doesn’t say anything, can’t say anything. Just lies there in silence, an omega listening to an alpha compliment him.

It’s not the first time it’s happened to him. Maybe it’s the first time he’s ever liked it, though. Harry’s not talking about his face, or his arse, or the curve of his hips. The things Harry is saying are real, deeper than appearances. They’re the things that make up Louis’ core.

“Sometimes when you’re asleep and I get up to get some water or something, you get this little furrow between your eyebrows that doesn’t go away until I get back into bed,” Louis says. “Did you know that?”

It’s a desperate attempt to change the subject. Harry’s hand slides up Louis’ calf, just a few inches, under his trackies, against his bare skin. Harry had a few glasses of wine with dinner, but nothing since then, so whatever is lowering his inhibitions isn’t the alcohol. He’s touching Louis like he means it, like he wants to be touching all of him.

“You’re not the guy they make you out to be,” Harry repeats. “You don’t have to pretend to be something you’re not with me.”

Louis lets out a slow breath, squirming around until he’s lying on his back. Harry’s hand slips up a few more inches in the process, until it’s resting just below Louis’ knee. The air feels thick, charged with electricity.

“Stop it,” he murmurs, unable to look away from the shape of Harry’s hand hidden under his sweats. “You’re making me wet.”

Harry’s nostrils flare a little as he breathes in, grip getting a little tighter around Louis’ leg. He doesn’t say anything, gaze open and hungry, and Louis would give anything to climb into his lap right now. _Anything_.

“Would you?” Louis asks, unable to stop himself. “If you didn’t work for me, if we were just two people who met in a bar somewhere?”

It’s not a question that makes sense. It’s definitely not grammatically correct or complete or anything like that.

“Yes,” Harry says immediately.

Louis doesn’t know what to do with that. He can’t stop himself from wanting to climb into Harry’s lap, kiss him, let Harry mark him. He doesn’t even know whether Harry would stop him right now. Whether it’s because Harry is tired, or more drunk than Louis thought, or what, Louis doesn’t know, but he might not stop him. He might let it happen, and Louis has no doubt that it would be good.

Slowly, Louis sits up. He is wet - can feel it, can _smell_ it on himself, which must mean that Harry can smell it too. Harry’s hand slides back down his leg, not quite relinquishing his hold, and Louis can’t stop himself anymore. He presses himself against Harry’s side, sliding a knee up over Harry’s leg, between his thighs, and tucks his face against Harry’s shoulder.

Here, the smell of him is even stronger, pine and heat. Louis breathes it in, half in Harry’s lap, and doesn’t make any noise when all Harry does is wrap his arms around him and pull him a little closer.

He would. If Louis wasn’t who he is, if Harry wasn’t who he is, Harry would. Didn’t even have to think about it.

They don’t go inside for a long time.

 

In the morning, Harry watches Louis shove all of his stuff back into his bag without offering to help. Louis has been accused of living like he’s been through a hurricane before, but he managed to keep his stuff more or less under control this time. He wasn’t any messier than Harry was, really, but Harry must have packed his belongings before Louis woke up.

It’s a thought that gives him a little pause. For someone who travels a fair amount, Louis has a hard time sleeping in unfamiliar places and with unfamiliar people around him. By now, he’s used to Harry sleeping close enough that sometimes he can hear him breathing, but they don’t sleep in the same room. There’s a door in between them, even though it never really gets closed.

Harry got up and packed his bag without waking Louis up. The thought is baffling.

“You wanted to kiss me last night,” Louis says. He doesn’t realize he’s going to say it until the words have already left his mouth.

Behind him, Harry is quiet. Louis can’t summon up enough courage to turn around and look him in the face. With his back turned, it almost feels like it had last night, a spell yet to be broken, a secret held between them.

Eventually, Harry says, “Are you ready to go?” completely ignoring Louis’ statement.

Louis abandons his packing and turns around, folding his arms across his chest. “You wanted to kiss me last night,” he repeats. Harry can’t ignore him forever.

Harry sighs, looking at him. “If you take much longer we’re going to hit rush hour and have to sit in traffic for a while,” he says. “And yes.”

Yes. It’s not as though Louis didn’t already know that, but having it confirmed sends a hot, electric thrill through his belly. Harry wanted to kiss him last night. Presumably, he still does.

As good as it feels to have it confirmed, Louis wasn’t actually expecting that to happen. Now that it has, he doesn’t know what to do with the information. It feels wrong to use it to his advantage, use it to further his agenda. Last night had been – it was unexpected. He didn’t think that he would feel like that when Harry finally admitted to wanting him.

It was more than there just being sexual attraction between them. There is, obviously, but for the first time Louis is starting to think that there’s more than that. He likes Harry. Like actually, genuinely likes him as a person. He’s got a dumb sense of humour and dorky dance moves, but he’s sarcastic and he never seems like he’s putting up with Louis the way his other bodyguards have.

Louis hasn’t said anything in a while. Harry’s watching him, a few feet of space in between them, waiting for something, and Louis doesn’t know what to say. He thinks maybe he has to figure out what he actually wants before he takes this any farther. Think about what it would be like if Harry wasn’t in his life anymore, and see how that feels.

“I’m almost ready,” he says, turning back to his bag. “You could get us some tea for the road and by the time that’s ready we’ll be good to go.”

He doesn’t turn back around, but he can still feel Harry’s eyes on him, watching him for a few more seconds before he leaves the room.

Louis exhales shakily, wiping his hands on his jeans. There’s butterflies in his stomach. _Butterflies_. He honestly doesn’t know when the last time that happened was.

 

The drive back to London is a quiet one. It’s not an uncomfortable kind of quiet. It’s soft, peaceful, with music playing in the background and Harry occasionally muttering under his breath about how terrible some of the other drivers are. They talk a bit, but for the most part they drive in silence, and Louis thinks about the weekend.

It was only forty-eight hours, but there’s no denying that something between them has changed. The attraction between them, that’s not something new. Louis has been trying to use it to his advantage since Harry was hired, and Harry’s never tried to deny it, choosing to ignore it instead. And it’s not like Louis ever truly thought that he and Harry didn’t get along – he just never wanted Harry as his bodyguard is all.

These past two days, though, Louis’ breath has caught in his throat when he looked at Harry, at some of the most inopportune moments. When he’s with his family, Harry tips his head back to laugh, joy written all over his face. His jokes are even worse, which Louis didn’t think was possible. He’s the best version of himself, and that version is painfully attractive. All night, Louis wanted to climb into Harry’s lap and never get out.

This is turning into more than just mutual attraction. Louis is developing _feelings_ for Harry.

For what might be the first time in his life, Louis doesn’t want to find a way to put a stop to them, either.

 

“So,” Louis says, kicking at Harry’s chair. There’s a mountain of paperwork in front of him, but he’s been working for a while now and he thinks he deserves to take a break. “When did you first realize that you have feelings for me?”

Harry sighs, moving his chair two inches away, just out of Louis’ reach. “I don’t have feelings for you.”

That’s a blatant lie. He had practically professed his love at his mother’s house. He definitely has feelings for Louis.

“Was it before or after that time you got turned on by me lounging around in my pajamas?” Louis continues, propping his chin up on his hand. Harry’s refusing to look at him, which Louis takes as more confirmation that he’s right.

“Stop it,” Harry says firmly. Louis sighs dramatically, falling silent.

He doesn’t go back to his work.

After a couple of minutes of Louis’ staring, Harry grits out, “What.”

Louis shrugs a shoulder. “Nothing. I just think it’s weird that you have all these feelings for me and I have all these feelings for you but you won’t even acknowledge them. It’s bizarre.”

Harry stands up so fast he nearly knocks his chair over. “We’re not having this conversation,” he says, and leaves the room. Louis would bet his entire net worth that Harry has just stopped outside of the doorway. There’s no way he’s leaving Louis alone. He never does.

If he thinks they’re not going to talk about it, that’s good for him. Louis isn’t going to keep quiet about it.

 

There’s a lot of traveling that comes as part of being the royal family. Louis generally doesn’t go on trips outside of England, leaving that up to his parents, but a large portion of his life is spent in a car. In a car that he’s never allowed to drive. He’s not really bitter about that anymore. At least, not most of the time.

A large portion of his life is also spent attending charity events and speaking to the media. By now, most reporters have written him off as a flaky omega, and that’s fine by Louis. It’s a reputation he’s worked hard to cultivate, after all.

He’s in the middle of a radio interview, trying to drum up funds for Believe In Magic, and the radio hosts are the worst kind of snide, making thinly veiled comments about his personal life that have nothing to do with the matter at hand. Louis ignores them, letting them slide right off his back, and keeps steering the conversation back to where it needs to be.

It’s not the first time he’s had to put up with this kind of behaviour from so-called professionals. For some reason, it’s always the radio hosts that come right out and say these things to his face, though. Louis is used to it, but that doesn’t make it okay.

Luckily, the interview ends a few minutes later. Louis keeps his polite, fake smile plastered to his face all the way down to the waiting car, then lets it drop.

Interviews might be his least favourite part of his life.

Harry’s been with him since the interview ended, silent at Louis’ side. In the elevator, his hand twitches at his side, like he wants to reach out and brush Louis’ hip.

The partition is already up in the car, separating them from the driver. Louis tries to make sure that it’s not always up, has a pretty good relationship with the guy who usually drives him, but today he’s grateful for it.

“Let’s stop at McDonald’s,” Louis says, buckling his seatbelt and leaning back. He doesn’t have anymore interviews lined up, so the rest of his day is free.

Harry hums non-committedly. Louis sighs, looking over at him. “What.”

“They’re never fair to you,” Harry says.

Louis sighs higher and looks forward again. The car starts moving. “Not this again.”

“They decided exactly what you were before you even walked into the room and treated you accordingly,” Harry says. “Didn’t even give you a chance to prove yourself one way or the other.”

“Yes, well, that’s the nature of their business,” Louis says, shrugging. “Nothing to be done about it.”

Harry’s hand gripping his chin, turning Louis’ face towards him, comes as a shock. Louis inhales out of surprise, suddenly facing him. “Why do you always do this,” Harry says, frustrated. “You just take everyone else’s shit without even trying to defend yourself, never stand up for yourself.”

Louis twists in his seat, bringing his knee up, facing Harry the best he can with his seatbelt still buckled. Harry’s hand is still on his face, and Louis puts his on Harry’s knee, squeezing gently. It’s always hard to ignore how good Harry is, but it’s especially hard right now, with Harry touching him, with how open he’s being.

“It’s part of the job,” Louis says. He can almost feel the heat of Harry’s skin under his hand, despite the layer of denim. “There’s always going to be dickhead reporters in my life, and I’ve learned to live with it. If I defend myself, I just look like a whiny omega, and that’s worse than whatever they can come up with.”

The muscles at Harry’s temples and the corners of his jaw clench as he grinds his teeth. He doesn’t say anything, frustration evident on his face. It makes Louis want to climb into his lap. He’s never met anyone who’s as good an alpha as Harry is, and he doesn’t think he’s ever going to.

“You shouldn’t have to take it,” Harry says, so stubborn.

Louis has to laugh a bit, under his breath. “You remind me of someone who used to work for my family. He would always tell me the same thing.”

“That’s because Franco knows you as well as I do,” Harry tells him.

Part of Louis wants to pull away, fix Harry with an incredulous stare. Pulling away would mean being farther away from the pine-rich scent of him, though, so Louis doesn’t.

“You know Franco,” Louis says, flat.

The corner of Harry’s mouth quirks up. “How did you think I got this job? I’m a little young to be entrusted with the personal safety of one of the Queen of England’s sons, don’t you think?”

Yes, Louis did think that. He just thought that his parents decided to go in a completely different direction than normal and hope for the best. He never even considered the possibility that Franco recommended Harry for the job.

He must be staring with his mouth open or something, because Harry laughs, low, quiet. “You didn’t wonder how I knew about your more discreet sneaking out methods, or the places you like to go when you want to make trouble but don’t actually want to leave the house? Did you think I was just uncannily good at figuring you out?”

Louis’ world has tilted a bit. The thought that Harry and Franco know each other never even crossed his mind.

“How could you never tell me this?” he demands, getting his voice back. He slaps his hand against Harry’s chest for emphasis.

Harry shrugs a little. “How do you think you would have reacted if you knew Franco recommended me when we first met? Do you think it would have made you give me more of a chance or would you have tried even harder to get me to leave?”

There’s no way to answer that question without admitting to something, so Louis chooses to ignore it. “How long have you known him for?”

“Does it matter?” Harry asks, raising an eyebrow.

What the hell is this, twenty questions? Harry hasn’t given him an actual answer to anything.

“Yes,” Louis says, digging his fingernails into Harry’s chest. “It matters to me.”

If this was anyone else, Louis would feel betrayed. For a lot of his life, people keeping things from him has been directly correlated to him being an omega. They think they should protect him, or that he can’t handle certain things, or that he’s too weak to protect himself. He’s always hated it, especially the idea that he’s weak. Louis is anything but weak, and that’s something he’s always known about himself.

He doesn’t feel betrayed by Harry not telling him this. Harry is right - if Louis had known about his association with Franco, he wouldn’t have stopped trying to get Harry to quit. He would have made it his mission to get Harry to quit, probably at any cost.

“Seven years, give or take,” Harry says, shrugging. “He owns a gym, you know that, and I trained there during high school, got to know him. I had no idea what I wanted to do when I graduated, so he got me into security, and it turned out that I was pretty good at it.”

“Just because you’re good at something doesn’t mean it’s what you want to do, though,” Louis points out. His arm is starting to hurt from holding it up, so he lets it slide down, resting on top of Harry’s arm instead. It’s the longest they’ve ever touched uninterrupted, at least like this. Louis isn’t counting the times Harry’s hauled him around.

“Are you asking me what my dream job is?” Harry asks. His hand leaves Louis’ face, but he doesn’t shift away from Louis’ hand on top of his arm, leaving it where it is.

Louis suposes it has something to do with Franco, too. He was by Louis’ side for eighteen years, protecting him, watching him grow up. He’s one of the few people Louis trusts implicitly, both to keep him safe and with his secrets. There’s no way Franco would ever betray him. Anything he told Harry about Louis was meant to help keep him safe, and none of it would have crossed any line.

“Yeah,” Louis says. “Whatever it is, it can’t be this.” He waves his free hand vaguely at the car, their surroundings.

Harry’s watching him. Their faces are close, but it’s not close enough. Louis licks his bottom lip, watching Harry watch him. Thinks about what it would be like to kiss him. 

“I dunno,” Harry says, after a quiet moment. “I’m pretty content with the way my life has turned out so far.”

If Louis has time to think about that, there’s no doubt he’ll read into it. Try to analyze what it means, what Harry’s thinking.

He leans back a little, breaking some of the tension between them. “What did he tell you about me?” he asks. He trusts Franco, but there’s plenty of embarrassing stories he could have told that wouldn’t betray that trust. Franco’s trustworthy, but he’s also someone who’s seen Louis do plenty of weird and stupid things.

“You know I’m not going to tell you that,” Harry says. His smile is crooked. “Gotta keep the mystery alive somehow.”

Louis rolls his eyes, but he can’t help laughing. He’ll just text Franco later and make sure he hasn’t told Harry anything particularly incriminating.

 

“The last one tasted like cough drops,” Louis says. His feet don’t want to cooperate with him, so he hangs onto Harry’s shoulder and lets him do most of the work. “Wild cheery. Cherry.”

Beside him, Zayn laughs, the sound bright and cherry. Cheery. “I’m sorry,” he tells Harry apologetically. “I thought he was way less drunk than this.”

Louis isn’t drunk. Can’t even remember the last time he was drunk, that’s how long it’s been since he was drunk. Is the word drunk starting to sound weird? Yeah, it definitely is. “I’m not drunk, you’re drunk,” he tells Zayn, trying to squirm around in Harry’s arms and swat at Zayn’s stupidly perfect face.

“No one’s denying that,” Zayn says, avoiding Louis’ flailing hands with ease. “I’m just nowhere near as drunk as you are, that’s all.”

Harry shifts him around a bit, guiding him to the exit easily. He’s so strong, only using one arm even though Louis isn’t really walking on his own.

“You should be,” Louis says, trying to sneak his fingers into the pocket of Harry’s jeans. He thinks there’s gum in there. Pretty sure Harry always carries gum around somewhere on him.

Harry slaps his hand away before Louis can find out one way or another. “Thought you weren’t drunk,” he says, amused. They make their way out the door, the cool night air refreshing against Louis’ hot skin. His cheeks are probably flushed and red.

“I’m not,” Louis insists. He presses his face against Harry’s shoulder, inhaling deeply. Harry smells good, even better than usual, warm and woodsy. He reminds Louis of a pine forest, so easy to get lost in. “My last drink tasted like wild cherry, though.”

“No kidding,” Harry says dryly, which leads Louis to think that he may have said that before. Probably just once, though. “Are you going to hit your head if I let you get in the car yourself?”

Louis scoffs loudly. “I can get into a car by myself, Harold, I don’t need your help.”

To prove it, he stumbles towards the waiting car, only avoiding hitting his head because Harry pushes him down at the last second. Whatever. Louis totally meant to do that. He’s not going to say thank you.

Zayn gets in on the other side. There’s a minute of squabbling as they try to do up each other’s seatbelts, getting in each other’s way more than they’re helping. Finally, they’re ready to go.

Harry’s sitting in the front seat, passenger side. Louis leans forward and taps him on the shoulder. “We need to take Zayn home first,” he tells Harry.

“Yes, Louis, I’m aware,” Harry says. The curve of his smile is evident even though he’s facing forward. He has a nice smile, especially when he’s smiling for real. His dimples come out in full force when he’s smiling for real.

“You know that you’re talking out loud, right?” Zayn asks, nudging Louis with his shoulder.

That’s interesting. Maybe Louis should have had one or two less drinks.

Wild cherry, though.

“Do you even like cherries?” Harry wonders out loud. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat one.”

“That’s because real cherries are disgusting,” Louis says. “It’s all about that artificial cherry taste.”

Zayn snorts, shaking his head. “You’re disgusting,” he says, looking down at his phone. He’s probably scrolling through memes again. He likes to find the most inappropriate ones about Louis and then send them to him.

If he wasn’t so far away and Louis wasn’t being held back by his seatbelt, he would kiss him. Stupid Zayn and his stupidly perfect face. Whenever Louis kisses him Zayn freaks out and tries to wipe off his cooties, like Louis hasn’t left his cooties on him thousands of times before. Zayn is practically made of Louis’ cooties by now.

“You’re still talking out loud,” Zayn sighs, still scrolling. Louis lunges for him, mouth first, and nearly gets strangled by his seatbelt.

In the front seat, Harry laughs. Louis smiles, pleased.

A few minutes later, they drop Zayn off at his apartment building. Harry climbs into the backseat once he’s gone, but the car doesn’t pull away from the curb until Zayn has made it inside safely.

“You’re so good,” Louis says, reaching out and trying to help Harry do up his seatbelt. “Making sure Zayn gets home safe and gets inside alright.”

“I’m not the one driving,” Harry points out, pushing Louis’ hands away and doing it himself. “You have Dave to thank for that.”

“Thanks, Dave,” Louis chirps, leaning forward and holding his hand out for Dave to high five. “You’re an A+ dude.”

Harry laughs again, under his breath this time, pushing Louis back so he’s sitting in his seat properly. “I knew I should have kept a better eye on you tonight. Shouldn’t have taken that bathroom break.”

Louis turns his attention back to Harry, forgetting about Dave altogether. “You’re a good dude too,” he says, poking Harry’s thigh. “You always take care of me and make sure random dudes don’t grope me and you smell really good. I like you so much.”

“Alcohol lowers your inhibitions in very strange and specific ways, doesn’t it,” Harry says. “Do you want to go home or do you wanna stop and get a snack?”

Oh, a snack. A snack would be so good right now. Harry really does take care of him. “Snack. You’re my favourite person in the world, you know that? I wanna sit in your lap all the time, and it’s only sex related urges half the time.”

“No kidding,” Harry says dryly. “I haven’t gotten that impression at all.”

“I like your face,” Louis continues, reaching out to touch said face gently. “Your dimples, the way your eyes crinkle when you smile. The way the only listen to classic rock or weird indie hipster stuff. The way you text your mum every day and the emoji war you have going on with your sister. I would choose you every time, you know that?”

For a minute, Harry’s quiet. Streetlights flicker as they pass them, casting shadows on Harry’s face. Louis wants to poke a finger into Harry’s dimples.

“You really need to stop saying things like that,” Harry says eventually. His voice is quiet but not subdued. Soft.

“Why?” Louis asks. “It’s not like they’re lies.”

They’re anything but lies. Alcohol has always made Louis painfully honest.

Harry sighs. He’s looking at Louis again, something on his face deep and yearning. He won’t take anything, Louis knows, but knowing that the feeling exists is something.

“You know why,” Harry tells him.

“I don’t,” Louis says, stubborn. “You look at me like you want to eat me, but every time you get the opportunity you back away.”

Louis has given him plenty of opportunity. If it was up to him, they would be having sex every day. At least twice a day. The way Harry treats him when Louis is being purposefully annoying, hauling him around without asking, without even trying to get Louis to change his behaviour, gives Louis plenty of ideas about what Harry would be like during sex. Exactly the right amount of rough and demanding. He’s the kind of person Louis needs for sex to be really good.

And, Louis is starting to think, the kind of person he needs to be in a fulfilling, happy relationship. Like, the exact person. The person Louis might be falling in love with.

Suddenly, Harry’s not looking at him anymore, staring forwards. As if that’s going to do anything to disrupt the scent of arousal hanging thick in the air.

“I don’t look at you like that,” Harry denies. He’s still not looking at Louis, so Louis’ overexaggerated, slow stretch is completely unnecessary, but Louis does it anyway.

Then, once he’s finished stretching, he rubs at his belly, rucking his shirt up in the process. Only because he’s itchy, of course.

“Sure,” Louis says, lounging in his seat. Just because Harry won’t look at him doesn’t mean Louis believes him. The scent gives him away even more than his obvious body language does. Both say that he’s aching to look at Louis, really drink him in. He reaches out and taps the back of Harry’s hand, trying to draw his attention. “Hey, did you talk to your sister today?”

The question does make Harry look at him out of the corner of his eye, suspicious. “Yeah, why?”

“She promised to send me some more of your baby pictures,” Louis says, shrugging. “I just wanted to make sure she hasn’t forgotten.”

Immediately, Harry starts to frown. “I don’t like how friendly the two of you are,” he mutters.

Louis pats Harry’s hand. “You’re only worried because you think we’re going to team up to organize your life and then you’re never going to be able to get me out of your head.”

Actually, now that Louis thinks about it, that is a pretty good plan. He’ll have to put it into place later.

“You’re thinking out loud again,” Harry says, sighing.

That’s okay. Harry’s already pretty terrible at resisting him, knowing Louis’ plan isn’t going to change anything.

 

“This is a pretty big crowd,” Louis observes, looking out the car window. There’s a swarm of people out there, waiting for him to emerge. It’s strange, considering that this isn’t even an official event. Louis himself hadn’t even known that he would be attending until about an hour before they’d left. It had all been very last minute.

In all honesty, not all of the people are there for him. He’s not the only big name attending this event, but the people closest to the front of the crowd do seem to be there for him, some holding signs, some cheering with excitement.

“Yeah,” Harry says. His jaw is a little tight, has been ever since they left, and it’s a little tighter now that they’ve arrived. He doesn’t like how little time he had to throw together a security plan, despite the fact that there’s other security at the event. Security who know the layout and the details of everything going on. It’s not like Louis is in any real danger.

That’s not to say that Louis doesn’t appreciate Harry’s dedication to his job. He does. He’s never felt unsafe when he’s with Harry, and he doesn’t think he ever will. Harry is just a little too tense sometimes, always thinking that something is going to happen.

“Okay,” Harry says, turning to face Louis head on. “I’m going to get out and open your door for you, and I’m going to be beside you every step of the way. If you don’t see me, you don’t move, alright?”

Louis wants to roll his eyes. This is the speech Harry gives him everytime they go out into a crowd like this. It’s almost word for word the exact same everytime, and he still gives it to Louis.

“Okay,” Louis says, instead of pointing that out. Sometimes it’s easier to go along with it, especially under these circumstances. Putting up a fuss about it never serves to do anything but make Harry more irritated.

Harry looks at him for a second longer before he nods once and gets out of the car. Louis waits for him to come around and open the door before he steps out into the throng.

Immediately, the noise surrounds him. People are yelling, talking, cheering, and it’s deafening. Louis makes his way through the crowd slowly, stopping to shake hands or take a picture, keeping half an eye out for Harry as he goes.

Like every other time they’ve been in a crowd, Harry stays glued to his side, eyes sharp, on the lookout for danger.

Honestly, Louis doesn’t even know how it happens. One minute he’s shaking someone’s hand, making a quick second of small talk, and the next there’s a guy approaching from the front, hands wild and exuberent. He makes a grab for Louis, but before he can make contact Harry is pulling Louis backwards, out of the guy’s reach.

Louis half turns, stumbling into Harry’s grip, and Harry’s face tells a story. A vicious, violent story. If this was one of Louis’ other bodyguards he would be laughing, ribbing them gently about it. The guy probably just wanted a hug or something. It’s not something Louis actively enjoys, people trying to touch him all the time, but it’s far from the worst thing about his life.

“Calm down,” Louis hisses, digging his nails into Harry’s shoulders, still being pulled along. The thickness of the crowd is ebbing behind them, giving them space as they enter the building. The noise dims, leaving an echo in Louis’ ears.

“I’m calm,” Harry says. His fingers are circled around Louis’ wrists, almost tight enough to leave bruises. They come to a halt in a quiet corner, far enough away from the action that they won’t be noticed.

Yeah, he seems real calm. He smells like anger, like a pine tree burning, and his eyes are a little heated. Calm isn’t the word Louis would use to describe him right now.

“Okay,” Louis agrees anyway, spreading his hands flat on against Harry’s shoulders. “Thank you for saving me from the big, mean alpha who tried to sneak attack hug me.”

Harry sighs, grip loosening on Louis’ wrists. “You’re welcome,” he says, but his face looks like he wants to say something else entirely.

Louis puckers up his lips, blowing Harry a kiss. It feels like an appropriate reaction, and it makes Harry laugh, albeit low and short.

They head into the event. Harry never strays farther than a foot away.

 

“Is this really necessary?” Louis asks, raising his eyebrows. “Seems like it might be a bit overkill.”

“It’s necessary,” Harry says, gesturing to the mat. “Come here.”

He still sounds a little aggrieved. It’s been twelve hours and he hasn’t even started to let it go, despite the fact that nothing even happened. The guy hadn’t even been able to lay a single hand on Louis before Harry intervened. No harm, no foul. 

Harry is still insisting that Louis brush up on his self-defence moves, though. Privately, Louis thinks it’s kind of pointless. Harry’s like a shadow, always close enough to prevent anything from happening.

“Okay,” Louis says, trudging onto the mat in front of Harry. “I just want to put it on record that when you can’t stop yourself from scenting me it’s not my fault, though.”

He tries to put a limit on how many times a day he’ll bring up the fact that Harry’s attracted to him. This is only the second time. And to be fair, Harry’s wound up pretty tight today, which makes him a little terse, so Louis is giving himself a pass. He’ll say it as many times as he wants.

Harry ignores him. “Okay, I’m going to grab you, and you’re going to show me how you would get out of it if it were to happen in real life.”

“If it were to happen in real life you would be there to stop it from happening,” Louis mutters to himself. It must be to himself, anyway, because it doesn’t seem like Harry is listening to anything that comes out of his mouth. He’s gesturing impatiently for Louis to step a little closer, so Louis does, dragging his feet. 

Under any other circumstances, Louis would be all over the opportunity to have Harry touch him. Especially this kind of touching, where Harry has to grab him like he means it in order for this to be even a little bit effective. Harry’s not any fun like this, though, worried about Louis’ safety and over-reacting to what barely passed as an uncomfortable situation, much less any actual danger.

Harry grabs him, slow enough to let Louis know that he’s doing it. His grip is tight but nowhere near unbreakable, and it’s pretty clear that he’s starting off easy. Louis would be able to get himself out of this hold without any problems.

Instead of attempting to escape it, he rolls his eyes to himself and twists around, looping his arms around Harry’s neck. “You’re being an over-dramatic baby about this,” he tells Harry matter-of-factly, ignoring the way Harry’s arms immediately drop to hang limply at his sides, all but screaming _I’m not touching you!_

“Would you focus? This is important,” Harry snaps. He smells like he wants to make Louis snap, bend him in half and keep him full for as long as he can stand it.

“This is you being angry that punching that guy in the face would have been illegal,” Louis says unsympathetically. “We both know that you’re the last person who would be able to effectively teach me how to get out of any dangerous situation, ever.”

Harry sighs, deflating at least an inch. It’s much more comfortable to hold him now. “I wouldn’t have punched him in the face,” he says. “The shoulder, maybe.”

Honestly, Louis doesn’t know what Harry would have done, given half the chance. It was Harry who pulled him away, out of the crowd, while a few other people had done the work keeping the crowd back and the guy away, but Louis remembers the glint in Harry’s eyes that wanted violence. It was probably more of an alpha thing than anything, reacting to an omega in danger.

_Reacting to_ his _omega in danger_ , Louis’ brain whispers. As usual, he ignores it. That kind of thinking is one thing, but it’s not going to get him anywhere if he says something like that to Harry.

“Okay,” Louis says instead. Harry hasn’t made an excuse to break away yet, and he would if he wanted to. He must need this even more than Louis does right now. Louis wasn’t rattled by the interaction. He’s more rattled by Harry right now than he was by some guy trying to grope him. He can almost feel the twitch of Harry’s fingers at his sides, like he wants to put his arms around Louis’ back and squeeze him tight.

It’s a little upsetting that he won’t just give in and do it. He’s not pulling away, though, and Louis knows that counts for something. It might even count for everything right now.

“It’s okay to be upset, you know,” Louis says softly. If he speaks too loud it might startle Harry into pulling away, remind him that he thinks he shouldn’t be doing this. Shouldn’t be letting Louis touch him like this.

“I’m not upset,” Harry denies, but the way he still hasn’t moved away kind of contradicts that point. Louis doesn’t say that, because that probably would make Harry move away for real.

“You were there to keep me safe,” Louis says instead. “You’re always there to keep me safe. You don’t have to worry about anything.”

Harry sighs against his hair, and slowly, briefly, his arms come up and wind around Louis’ back, squeezing him tight. The hug only lasts for a few seconds before Harry is stepping away, putting distance between them again.

“I’m going to find someone for you to brush up on your escape maneuvers with tomorrow,” Harry says. “Promise me that you’ll take it seriously and won’t try to blow it off.”

His face says exactly how serious he is. Louis nods. His fingers itch to take Harry back into the hug, and he struggles to get the urge under control. Every part of him wants to touch Harry, make him feel better about it, and he thinks that Harry probably wants him to, but he doesn’t. Nothing about it is easy.

 

“Hey,” Louis says, rocking forward and pushing his toes into Harry’s thigh. “What are you going to do when I go into heat?”

It’s a question that’s been on Louis’ mind for a while now. He takes suppressants to ensure that his heats are few and far between, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have them at all.

Harry looks over at him, bewildered. “What?”

“When I go into heat,” Louis repeats. “You already have a hard enough time keeping your hands off me as it is, how are you going to manage when I’m in heat?”

By the look on Harry’s face, it’s clear that he’s thought about it. It’s also clear that he doesn’t have a solution. Louis smiles to himself, triumphant.

“I’m going to do the same thing I always do,” Harry says. “My job.”

His tone says it’s the end of the discussion. Louis thinks that it’s not, but for not he lets it go.

 

“Louis,” his mum says warningly, holding up a finger. “Where exactly are you going with that?”

“The gym,” Louis says, hoisting the NERF gun up over his shoulder. 

His mum sighs, exasperated, and shouts after him, “I’m not going to protect you if you annoy him!”

That’s fine. Louis doesn’t need protecting, especially not from someone who is technically in his employ. He makes quick work of entering the gym. Harry’s immediately visible, jogging on the treadmill with his headphones in.

This is his hour. Technically, he’s only supposed to work a normal eight hour day, but most days he does what Louis does, goes where Louis goes, and only carves out an hour for himself per day. He pulls from the rota to get someone to keep an eye on Louis during that hour, and during the night to make sure Louis hasn’t left his room, saying it’s necessary to make sure Louis doesn’t escape. 

The first nerfball hits Harry directly between the shoulderblades. He doesn’t react, just keeps jogging, headphones still in, not even looking over his shoulder.

Louis pelts him with another three in a row. He still doesn’t get a reaction, so he waits for about thirty seconds, enough time to lull Harry into a false sense of security, and then unleashes the rest of them.

Harry keeps jogging while the nerfballs hit him. Louis has pretty good aim, if he does say so himself, and all of the balls hit Harry somewhere. One of them even nails him in the back of the head.

As soon as the barrage is over, Harry shuts the treadmill off, and, before it’s even fully stopped, says over his shoulder, “You probably want to consider running now.”

Louis doesn’t run. At the very best, Louis saunters. He’s certainly not going to run now. What’s Harry going to do anyway, hug him to death? That’s really the only thing he’s capable of.

Treadmill still, Harry turns around.

Louis bolts.

He’s trying to make it back through the dining room. His mum is probably still there, entertaining her friends, and Harry’s not unprofessional enough that he would do anything there. The dining room is safe.

Louis doesn’t make it to the dining room. He can hear Harry’s footsteps behind him, and it must be because Harry is already warmed up, had already been running, why he’s so fast. One second Louis is running towards safety, the next he’s upside down and the entire world is spinning in front of him.

A loud, terrible noise escapes Louis’ mouth, one that’s definitely not a shriek. His face smacks against Harry’s back, just above his arse, and it would be so satisfying to bite him. “I’m going to have you arrested!” Louis spits out instead, struggling. It gets him nowhere, Harry’s arm pressing tight against the back of Louis’ thighs, holding him in place.

“Sure you are,” Harry agrees, strides evening out now that Louis has accepted his fate and has mostly stopped struggling. He only sounds a little bit out of breath, and Louis hates him for that.

The words _unhand me_ are on the tip of Louis’ tongue. He swallows them back, because he’s not a terrible movie damoiseau in distress, and beats his fists against Harry’s back instead. “You’re fired!” he shouts.

He doesn’t realize that they’re halfway through the dining room until several pairs of fancy high heels come into view. “Good afternoon, ladies,” Harry says politely. “Don’t mind us, just passing through.”

If Louis wasn’t who he is, his face would be bright red with embarrassment. Seems as though Harry’s forgotten how many times Louis has been in the tabloids, accused of being a stain on his family’s good name. He’s the black sheep of the royal family, and nothing embarrasses him anymore.

“Unhand me, you vile swine!” Louis shouts, louder than before, because he might not be embarrassed by anything he does anymore but he definitely knows how to embarrass other people. It’s one of his finer qualities.

Harry doesn’t unhand him. Harry keeps going, strides even and sure as he carries Louis through the dining room. A murmur of noise comes from the ladies behind them, not quite a stir, and Louis beats his fists against Harry’s back, yelling his intentions to have Harry fired, thrown in jail, fed to the wolves – 

Through it all, Harry doesn’t once stumble. He makes soft, thoughtful noises to Louis’ threats, and no one even pretends like they’re trying to stop him.

None of the staff in this place are loyal. Louis should have them all fired. Ever since Harry started working as Louis’ personal bodyguard, Louis has been getting away with so much less. It’s unfair.

He doesn’t realize where they’re going until Harry steps outside and grass hovers in the corner of Louis’ gaze. The pool.

“Don’t,” Louis says, clutching Harry’s shirt between his fingers. “Harry, I swear to god – ”

Harry tosses him into the pool. Louis tries to hold on, tries to bring Harry down with him at the very least, but the fabric of Harry’s shirt slips through his grasp, and before he knows it, water closes in over Louis’ head.

The pool is heated, so the water isn’t unpleasantly cold. Louis stays submerged for a handful of seconds, eyes closed, before he pushes off against the bottom and pops back up.

Harry is standing at the edge, arms crossed over his chest, infuriatingly tiny smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, and Louis has never handled losing very well.

“You’re a bastard,” Louis says, kicking back a little to keep himself afloat. Harry opens his mouth to respond, and Louis strips his wet shirt off over his head.

Harry’s mouth clicks closed so fast Louis can almost hear it. “Do you know how much these clothes cost?” Louis continues, dropping his shirt in the water and letting it float away. “And now you’ve gone and ruined them with chlorine. What a shame.”

He reaches down and wiggles his way out of his pants. It takes a lot more splashing than he’d like, is a lot less graceful than he wants to be, but by the time he’s done Harry is still staring at him with wide eyes and his jaw set.

A thrill slides its way down Louis’ spine. It started off as a way to get Harry to quit, something to make him uncomfortable, but it’s more than that now. Now, Louis wants Harry’s eyes on him, wants Harry’s attention. He’s attracted to Harry in more than a casual way, and it’s hard to remember that this is going to come back and bite him in the arse later when Harry’s looking at him like that.

“I’m pretty sure that everything you’re wearing right now has come from H&M,” Harry says eventually. He hasn’t budged from his spot, blatantly staring at Louis’ nearly naked form in the water.

Louis sinks a little lower, treading water gently, until his mouth is just shy of being filled. With water. He’s wearing white briefs today, and he can feel the fabric sticking to his skin, probably gone all but translucent. He’s practically naked, and if Harry were to get in the water he would press Louis back up against the wall and kiss him slow and deep, keep him there until he’s tasted every inch of Louis’ mouth.

“Yeah,” Louis says, mostly to himself. He clears his throat and continues, “So?”

“So,” Harry says, uncrossing his arms and tucking his hands into his pockets, “That entire outfit probably only cost you twenty pounds.”

The smell of chlorine from the water is the only thing keeping Louis’ slick from flooding the air. Most of him is grateful for that, but part of him wants Harry to be able to smell it, wants to see Harry’s reaction, the way his eyes would go a little bit darker, the way his fingers would curl into his palms, his breathing come a little harder. It’s no surprise, Louis’ attraction to Harry. He’s known it ever since the beginning, the very first day, when Harry dug his heels in and refused to let Louis push him even an inch.

The depth of it, though, the clarity of it, is a little unnerving. If Harry were to get in the water with him, Louis would let him take whatever he wanted, and he knows exactly how unfair that would be. To Harry, to himself. 

Louis could break him, if he really tried. Over the past few months, he’s learned Harry’s weaknesses, the things he lets Louis get away with despite himself. Louis has done his best not to take advantage of that recently, but sometimes he catches himself pushing without realizing it. Times like now, in the pool with Harry openly looking at him, nearly naked and wet. Louis put them in this situation, and while he might not have realized he was doing it, this was always where it was going to end up.

“Yeah,” Louis says finally. “So if you were to rip it off of me I wouldn’t be upset.”

Harry’s lips part, and he takes a slow, unsteady breath in, clearly picturing it. “We agreed that you weren’t going to do this anymore.”

No one agreed to anything. Louis certainly never agreed to that. And even if he did, agreements can be broken. “What about me right now leads you to believe that I’m joking?” he demands, gripping the edge of the pool and pulling himself out. “Why are you the only one who gets to decide what’s good for me?”

Frustration builds in his chest, simmering away. It’s not at a boil, not quite yet, but it wouldn’t take much to get it there.

“Have you ever thought that maybe this wouldn’t be good for me?” Harry demands, taking a couple of steps closer. “This is my job, Louis, my _life_ , and I’m not going to fuck it up just because I - ”

He stops abruptly, folding his arms across his chest and going back to staring. Louis’ skin prickles again, but this time it’s with anger and frustration rather than arousal.

Okay, maybe it’s a little bit of arousal, too. Harry still smells a bit like sweat, dishevelled from his workout, dressed in his sweats, and even when he’s pissed off he’s the person who makes sure Louis is safe. All of that combined with _alpha_ doesn’t do anything to dissuade Louis’ desire to let Harry stuff him full.

“Because you what?” Louis demands right back, closing the distance between them and slamming his hand against Harry’s chest, open palmed. “Say it, Harry. You’re not too much of a coward to admit it, are you?”

Harry grips Louis’ hand, tight, but he doesn’t pull it away. “There’s nothing I can say to make this easier,” he says. “We both just have to let it go and move on.”

_Let it go_ , he says, as though he doesn’t wake up in the morning and watch Louis’ face for at least two minutes before he says anything. _Move on_ , he says, like his breath doesn’t catch in his throat at the strangest moments, when Louis is laughing or when he’s half-asleep on a sofa. Louis has heard it, seen it, _knows it_.

“Fuck you,” Louis spits, spinning on his heel and striding back into the house. Harry doesn’t follow him, but Louis catches the nod he gives to Sam in the reflection of the window to follow him instead.

Fine. If that’s the way Harry wants it, he’s going to get it.

 

That night, Louis shuts the door between his sleeping quarters and his living quarters for the first time in months. He doesn’t bother locking it – that would be a dead giveaway – and sits unmoving on an armchair, waiting.

About twenty minutes later, there’s a soft knock on the door. “Louis,” Harry says through the wood, quiet. He hesitates for a few seconds. “Goodnight,” he adds eventually, even quieter. Louis doesn’t respond.

He waits an hour, then he pops the screen out of the window and climbs out.

 

Picking up a guy is easy. He’s an alpha, attractive, tall, and right now that’s all Louis cares about. He takes him home within twenty minutes of meeting him, aware of the flash of cameras going off around them. This is definitely going to be in the news in the morning.

That’s another thing Louis doesn’t care about. The taxi pulls up to the estate, and Louis pays the driver with a few crumpled notes from his back pocket, pulling his hook-up out of the car behind him.

The guy is all over him, mouthing at Louis’ neck, hot and wet. He’s all hands, sliding up under Louis’ shirt to palm at his bare skin, and it feels good. Louis guides them towards the front door, steady on his feet. Arousal is slowly slithering through his veins, a bit late to the game but there nonetheless. If Harry wants him to move on, Louis is going to move on. A few one-night stands are a surefire way to get Harry out of his head.

The door swings open before Louis can even lay a hand on it. Harry’s standing on the other side of it, wearing trackies and an old t-shirt, hair tousled and face pissed off. “Really?” he demands, barely giving the guy Louis has picked up a singular glance.

“Move,” Louis says, making a shooing motion with one hand. He doesn’t try to push past Harry, pretty certain that Harry wouldn’t let him anyway.

The guy doesn’t even seem to notice that they’ve come to a standstill, too busy nuzzling Louis’ neck to care. Harry’s gaze focuses in on that, and his face goes from angry to blank. He crosses his arms over his chest, really settling into the doorway with his feet planted firmly, and says, “You’ve gotta go, mate.”

Louis rolls his eyes, turning back into the guy’s embrace, tilting his face up to give the guy access to his mouth. The guy notices that, descending quickly, and they’re about to meet somewhere near the middle when Harry jerks him back.

“I wasn’t kidding,” Harry says, an edge of steel lying under his voice. “Either you leave now by your own volition or you leave in two minutes escorted by security.”

The guy blinks, confused. “Are you talking to me?”

“Christ, how drunk are you?” Harry mutters, more to himself than anything. “Yes, I’m talking to you. Leave. Now. Before I throw you off the property myself.”

The guy blinks again, looking between Harry and Louis before toddling off into the night. Louis rips himself out of Harry’s grasp and ducks under his arm into the house. “You fucking arsehole,” he spits, stalking towards the kitchen. If he’s not going to get laid tonight he’s at least going to have a snack.

“Louis,” Harry says, low, pissed off. Good. Louis is pissed off, too.

“You’ve got no fucking right to interfere with my sex life like that,” Louis says, not stopping. He shrugs out of his jacket and lets it fall onto the floor. It’s rude, he knows, and not something he would normally do, but right now he’s pissed off and hungry. He’ll try to remember to pick it up later, and if he doesn’t he’ll get Nicky a gift to make up for it. “We’re nothing, remember? You have absolutely no say over what I do with my body. All you alphas are the fucking same, think you can control an omega’s body just because you have a knot. What a fucking joke. You _wish_ that you could be as – ”

Harry grabs his arm and spins him around, cutting him short. “You left your phone,” he says.

The statement does nothing to ebb Louis’ anger any. “Yeah, because I knew you would just track it if I took it with me,” he says. “Like you’re some kind of stalker or something.” He rips his elbow out of Harry’s grasp, but Harry just grabs it right back.

“You promised me that you wouldn’t do that anymore,” Harry says, low, fierce. “You think I give a shit that you went out to fuck some guy? I don’t care about that! I’m paid to care about your safety. I’m _paid_ to make sure you don’t do something dumb like take off without your phone and get yourself kidnapped. You’re being a fucking child if you think I’m upset because you snuck out to get laid.”

This time, Louis succeeds in ripping his arm away. He takes a step back but doesn’t go any further, staring at Harry, and he can’t quite decide whether it’s hurt he feels or anger. “Wow,” he says. “You get _paid_ to care about my safety? That’s the only reason you care?”

Harry sighs, hand dangling mid-air for a second before he drops it. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

Louis spreads his arms out wide, shrugging. “I don’t, actually,” he says. “You’re constantly saying one thing but meaning another, how am I ever supposed to know what you _actually_ mean?”

A muscle in Harry’s jaw ticks, as though he has any fucking right to be angry with Louis right now. “Something could have happened to you,” he says. “ _Anything_ could have happened to you, and you would have had no way to call for help.”

“You know what, you’re absolutely right,” Louis says, stepping forward again and jabbing Harry in the chest with his index finger. “It was a shitty thing to do and I’m sorry, but you don’t get to pretend that your reaction is just because you were worried something might have happened to me. You’re pissed off that I brought someone home.”

Slowly, Harry looks down at Louis’ finger, then back up at his face. Louis isn’t intimidated by it – Harry could hurt him if he wanted to, but Harry would never want to hurt him. It’s not even a question.

“We’re not talking about this again,” is all Harry says.

Louis wishes he had something to throw at him. It doesn’t matter that they’re only standing a foot apart. He still wants to hurl something at Harry’s stupid handsome face. “We never talked about it in the first place. You’ve never actually admitted that you have feelings for me and that those feelings would cause you to be upset if I were to pick someone up to have sex with them.”

Harry takes a step back this time. “What do you want me to say?” he asks, pushing his hair back out of his face. “I work for you.”

“I want you to stop being a coward,” Louis says immediately. “I want you to be honest for once, to admit how you feel about me and stop hiding behind this stupid curtain of working for my family.”

“It’s not a curtain,” Harry says, shaking his head. “This is my career, Louis. Maybe if you’d ever had to work a day in your life you would understand.”

Louis laughs bitterly. “You fucking prick,” he says. “You go around saying horrible shit like that and I still fucking love you. If this was a _choice_ for me, don’t you think I would stop doing it?”

His eyes burn with tears, and he doesn’t even know whether he’s telling the truth anymore or not. Whoever said that love was supposed to be easy clearly didn’t know what they were talking about. He closes his eyes for a minute, scrubbing roughly at his cheek so he doesn’t let the tears fall.

When he looks up again, Harry looks miserable. “Don’t say that to me,” he croaks, tucking his hands into the pockets of his trackies.

“What?” Louis demands. “That I love you? Me not saying it isn’t going to make it any less true, you know. You have to know that.”

It’s almost a plea. Louis’ entire chest is aching, hurting, but he still wants Harry to say it back. He believes it to be true, that Harry is in love with him too, but he wants to hear Harry say it.

“You should go to bed,” Harry murmurs eventually. He’s still looking at Louis the same way, with that kind of hopeless defeat.

Louis’ laugh is even more bitter this time. “How much longer do you think you’re going to be able to ignore it for?” he asks. “Because it’s not going away. Sooner or later you’re just going to be looking at me, any random moment, and you’re going to end up saying it before you even realize it.”

He turns around without waiting for Harry’s answer and heads back to his room. He’s not hungry anymore.

 

In the morning, Louis’ mum gently breaks the news to him that Harry has put in his resignation, effective immediately. Louis cries, and he breaks things, and he calls Harry’s phone about a thousand times, but none of it does any good.

Harry’s well and truly gone. 

 

The blow to the back of the head doesn’t render Louis unconscious. There’s a sudden, searing pain, and a moment of panic, and before he knows it he’s on the ground, body refusing to co-operate with him.

His brain is screaming at him to get up, to move, to run, scream for help, _anything_ , but he can’t manage more than a feeble twitch of his fingers. His vision has gone a little black around the edges, but he can still see the hooded figures approaching him. 

Everything he’s ever been taught about self-defense completely flies out of his head. He puts up a weak struggle as the hooded figures pick him up, aware that it’s going to be useless. The ground sways below his feet, alarmingly fast, and there’s nothing he can do as he’s stuffed into the trunk of a car.

There’s no time for terror to set in before the trunk is being slammed closed, and that’s when Louis passes out.

 

Harry’s smiling at him from across the table. Actually, scratch that. It’s more of a smirk, sly and amused, a wineglass hovering near his mouth, glinting in the soft light. “I’m surprised you didn’t deck him,” he says, taking a sip of his wine. 

The room feels fuzzy, light, and Louis doesn’t know what he’s talking about, but somehow he still finds his mouth opening to say, “I almost did. Then I realized that he probably would have tried to hit me back, and you weren’t there to intercept him before he could make contact, so I thought the better of it.”

“He might have hit you back but we both know that you would have taken a chunk out of him either way,” Harry says, scoffing a little. He puts his glass down to pick up his fork, and something gleams on his hand. Before Louis can take notice of what it is, Harry is continuing, “Might’ve gotten charges pressed, but it would have been worth it.”

Where are they? Louis doesn’t recognize this room, doesn’t remember how he got here. He hasn’t seen Harry in a week, anyway, yet here he is, right in front of Louis’ face. Harry’s face is open, relaxed, content, and he’s still looking at Louis.

Louis isn’t worried. Whatever this is, it’s okay. He could never be anything other than safe when he’s with Harry.

“Would you have bailed me out?” Louis asks, spearing a piece of asparagus with his fork and chewing it slowly.

“Maybe after a few hours,” Harry says, dimple forming on his cheek as he smiles. “Take a nap first, do a couple loads of laundry.”

It’s a ring, on Harry’s left hand. Simple, silver, medium thickness. Louis looks down at his own hand and sees a matching one.

“Maybe I should divorce you,” Louis retorts. “Plenty of alphas out there want a piece of this.”

Harry reaches across the table and takes Louis’ hand, threading their fingers together. “In sickness and in health, baby,” he says easily. “You knew what you were getting into when you married me.”

Louis’ breath catches in his throat. Harry’s eyes are still fixed on him, as if this is a natural, everyday occurrence. Them eating a romantic dinner together, married, and by the looks of it on some kind of vacation.

“I knew,” Louis says dumbly. “Did I know?”

“You knew that I would always be there for you,” Harry says, squeezing Louis’ fingers.

Abruptly, Louis’ eyes start tearing up. “You’re not here now,” he whispers, squeezing back.

Harry’s face collapses, any sign of happiness gone, replaced by sadness. “I would be if I could,” he says. “But you’re right, I’m not. So you’re going to have to do this by yourself, baby, alright?”

Louis shakes his head. He wants to climb across the table, right into Harry’s lap, and stay there for the rest of his life. “I can’t.”

“You can,” Harry says. “You have to. So open your eyes, Louis.”

 

He’s in the trunk of a car. There’s a crack of dim light filtering through the keyhole, just enough that he can tell it is a car trunk. His hands are zip-tied in front of him, the skin of his wrists sore like he was pulling at the plastic while he was unconscious.

“Shit,” Louis whispers, panic threatening to claw its way up his throat. He swallows a few times, trying to bite it back. His stomach is a tangled mess of nerves and fear, and none of that is going to help him right now. He ignores it the best he can, twisting around to get as good a look at his surroundings as he can.

There’s not much room in the trunk, but Louis is a small person, a fact he’s never been so grateful for before. A spare tire is wedged down by his feet, and there’s a tire iron at his side. Other than that, the trunk is empty.

Okay. He exhales slowly, trying to calm his brain enough to think. His hands are zip-tied in front of him, and his feet are free.

His hands are zip-tied in front of him. Either these are the dumbest kidnappers in the world or they weren’t expecting Louis to wake up before they got to their destination. Right now, it doesn’t really matter which one it is. He struggles, squirming around, until he manages to get himself aligned properly, and sets about trying to break the zip-ties.

The first attempt doesn’t work. Tears of frustration well up in his eyes, threatening to spill over before he blinks them away. He catches his breath, holds it for as long as he can before his lungs start to hurt, then exhales and draws in another breath. It helps ebb the panic a little, enough that he can try again.

_You can do this_ , he thinks to himself, too scared to risk saying anything else out loud in case the kidnappers hear him, and tries again. Feet planted against the bottom of the trunk, elbows aligned with his hips, hands centered in front of him and the ends of the zip-ties at the sides of his palms, he thrusts up, trying to gain enough leverage to break the plastic.

Attempt two doesn’t work either. Louis draws in another slow breath. He has to get himself out of this trunk. People will be looking for him, but he has no way of knowing how long he’s been gone or how far they’ve gotten in that time. He can’t risk waiting around for someone to rescue him.

He squeezes his eyes closed, a mantra of _please work please work please work_ running through his head, and puts every ounce of strength he has into his next attempt, thrusting so hard his shoulders come right up off the upholstery in the process.

The zip-ties snap. Louis’ hands are free. He can only barely make the ends out in the dim light of the trunk, and he stares at them in disbelief for a second. His hands are free.

Now that his hands are free, he has no idea what to do. He’s had lessons on how to escape from a locked trunk before, but nothing is coming to mind. All that preparation they drilled into him and now, when he actually needs it, he’s too panicked to remember any of it. He laughs out loud, slapping both hands over his mouth to muffle the noise.

The laughter is what sets the tears loose. All that time he spent mocking Harry for being a typical over-protective alpha and telling him that nothing was going to happen is coming back to bite him in the arse right now. The odds of something like this actually happening are one in a million, and a week after Harry leaves it does. Maybe it’s karma or something.

It takes Louis a while to get himself back under control. In the dark, with no cellphone or watch, it’s impossible to tell exactly how long that is, but he knows that with every passing second they’re getting farther away from where he was kidnapped and closer to the spot where the car comes to a stop and the kidnappers open the trunk. Louis doesn’t want to be in the car when that happens.

Breathing mostly under control again, he starts feeling around for a trunk release cable. It’s a long shot – it was one thing for the kidnappers to be dumb enough to leave his hands zip-tied in the front, but it would be so much stupider if they were transporting him in a car with a trunk release cable on the inside.

Like he thought, he can’t find a cable or a switch or a knob, anything to indicate that this car has one. That’s the most obvious escape method out the proverbial window, then. This must be an older car, which hopefully means that the brake lights can be broken from the inside. If he can get the attention of someone on the road, they might be able to call for help.

Breaking the lights is easy enough. The tire iron proves to be an effective tool against them, and once they’re broken he can push the shards clear. It doesn’t give him much room to see out of, but it’s more than he had before, so he’ll take it.

The road is dark. The road is pretty much all he can see, white lines down the middle of it dividing two lanes. There are no streetlights to speak of, no houses that he can see in the distances or cars following them.

Once again, horror sinks over him. They must be pretty far outside of the city for there to be no other cars on the road and nothing around so he can tell where he is. The last time he remembers looking at his phone it was just after three in the afternoon, which means it’s been at least six hours since he was taken. Night has fallen, and they’re heading into the forest.

He has to get out of this trunk. He has to get out of this trunk, and he has to do it soon. The most likely scenario is that he was taken for the ransom money, but he’s not hedging his bets on it. He fumbles around some more, searching every inch of the interior for something, anything that will help him escape, running his fingers against the upholstery, checking for holes, trying to pull it apart, trying to find wires to get the trunk unlocked, anything.

There’s nothing. Before Louis can start panicking again, the car makes a few turns in rapid succession, and then starts slowing down.

Okay. That’s it, then. He’s out of time. The only option he has left is to come out swinging and hope that his kidnappers weren’t expecting him to be awake. If he’s lucky, the element of surprise will be on his side.

His breath is coming in short, sharp bursts that hurts his ribs. He makes a conscious effort to get it under control, gripping the tire iron with both hands and gets himself into the best position he can. As soon as this trunk pops open, he’s going to come out swinging and make a run for it. That’s all he can do.

It feels like it takes forever for the car to come to a complete stop, and even longer for the sound of doors opening and then being slammed closed again a few seconds later. Louis can’t tell how many doors it was, can’t tell how many people there are outside of this trunk, and as terrifying as that thought is he has to ignore it.

The second the lock pops, Louis burst into motion, shooting to his feet, still inside the now open trunk, swinging the tire iron with as much force as he can muster. There’s a sickening crack as it makes impact with something, _someone_ , but all Louis sees is a blur of dark hair as he leaps out of the trunk, tire iron still clutched between his hands, and sprints for the treeline.

There’s a cacophony of noise behind him, another thing Louis ignores as he runs. His ribs ache now, but he doesn’t stop as he makes it into the coverage of trees, stumbling over roots and leaves. He tries not to run in a straight line, in case they decide to start shooting at him. Blood pounds in his ears, making it hard to hear anything else, and he can’t tell if anyone is following him. Or how close they are if someone’s behind him.

He runs until his lungs start hurting, and then he runs some more. The only reason he stops is because his legs are about to give out under him. Slowing down to a walk, he takes in his surroundings. He’s run into the forest with only the vaguest idea of the direction he came in, much less how to get back to town without running into his kidnappers. Or what his kidnappers even look like so he knows who not to ask for help.

Belatedly, he realizes that his fingers are trembling. He curls them into his palms and looks up, hoping to be able to see the stars, something familiar. Anything to help him get his bearings.

The familiarity of the night sky greets him. It’s not as though he expected it to look different, but something about it still makes him breathe out in relief. Nothing else has seemed familiar, but this is, and that’s something.

Breath caught, he starts walking, trying to stay parallel to the direction he had come in. There’s no way of telling whether he’s succeeding or not. He tries to stay quiet, listening for noise, senses on alert. Escaping was one thing, and he can only assume that his kidnappers are searching for him right now. He won’t be safe until he’s back at home.

Even though he’s being careful, he doesn’t realize that he’s been surrounded until it’s too late. It’s three against one, and those odds aren’t good ones.

Louis still has the tire iron in hand. If he goes down, he’s going to go down fighting.

 

There’s a cabin up ahead. Louis feels filthy, dirty with dried sweat and mud and blood, both his and others. His head hurts, and he could use a drink. Now, he can be fairly certain that he has a good head start on his kidnappers, and he’s not worried about them catching up to him. The ones who can get back up, anyway.

He tries the doorknob. It opens easily under his hand, which he takes as an invitation. He can take five minutes to clean himself up before he tries to find his way back home. Maybe there will be a phone or something he can use to call for help.

Louis stumbles through the doorway and smacks into someone. He opens his mouth to scream, despite the uselessness of it, before the scent sinks in.

“Harry,” he breathes, reaching up to clutch onto Harry’s shoulders instead. His vision is swimming, hazy, and his head hurts, but none of that matters anymore because Harry is here. “You came.”

Harry grabs him before he can fall, supporting all of Louis’ weight easily. There’s a smear of blood on his cheek and dirt on his hands. “Baby,” he says, crushed. “Of course I did.”

He came. Louis breathes in as evenly as he can and reaches up some more, curling his fingers around the back of Harry’s head and burying them in his hair, stretching up onto his tiptoes to kiss him. Harry kisses back, desperate and aching, and Louis is safe now. He’s safe.

Louis passes out.

 

He knows that he’s in the hospital before he even wakes up. The bright lights and low beeping of a monitor tell him that before he’s opened his eyes. There’s a little bit of pain in the back of his head, but it’s nothing like he expected it to be. They must have given him the good stuff, then.

Eventually, he opens his eyes. He’s in a private room, obviously, with the door closed. His mother is asleep in a chair near the bed, and his father is on the opposite side of the bed, staring listlessly off into space.

“Dad,” Louis says. His voice comes out rustier than he thought it would, and the sound of it startles his father.

“Louis,” his father says, tears shining in his eyes. “You’re awake.” He hugs Louis, bone-grippingly tight, and doesn’t let go for a long time. He only pulls away long enough to reach across the hospital bed and shake Louis’ mother awake, and then they’re all hugging, limbs tangled.

They don’t let go for a long time. Louis isn’t ashamed to admit that he cries.

 

Later, after the doctors have come and checked him out, after Louis has given his statement to the police, his parents tell him that Harry brought him to the hospital and wouldn’t leave his side until they showed up. Maybe they mean it to be a comfort to him, that he wasn’t alone, but all Louis can think about is that Harry isn’t here now.

He just left. Abandoned Louis here after the nightmare they just went through.

 

Louis has always been a stubborn person, and he knows that about himself. It means that he’s entirely comfortable standing in this hallway banging on Harry’s door until Harry decides to open up. He doesn’t care how long it takes. Louis is persistent like that. He knows for a fact that Harry is here, and he’s not leaving until he gets some answers.

It takes a full ten minutes before Harry answers the door. Louis is timing it, and ten minutes is not an exaggeration. He’s pretty sure the only reason Harry does it is because his neighbours are starting to complain.

Harry opens the door, wearing a rumpled hoodie and a pair of faded sweatpants. He looks like he hasn’t showered in a few days. “Louis,” is the only thing he says.

Louis pushes right past him, into the flat, without waiting for an invitation. It’s been three days. It’s been three days, and Harry hasn’t answered a single one of Louis’ texts or calls. He hasn’t checked up on Louis in the hospital, hasn’t reached out in any way, and that makes Louis more angry than it does sad. He knows Harry cares about him. Harry was never capable of denying it.

“You just dropped me off at the hospital and left me there,” Louis says, stopping in the middle of Harry’s living room and turning around to face him.

Slowly, Harry folds his arms across his chest. It’s a very defensive move. “I waited until your parents got there.”

That’s not what Louis meant and he knows it. Even now, after everything they’ve been through, he’s still being a dick. Louis wants to slap some sense into him.

“Why’d you even bother trying to find me, then?” Louis demands, crossing his own arms over his chest. “You didn’t even wait for me to wake up before you left. You could have just left me to die if you don’t care.”

Harry flinches, but he doesn’t move from his spot. His masked expression slips for a second before he’s able to regain it, showing the hurt and fear lying underneath it. “We’re not going to do this,” he says firmly.

Like hell they’re not. “Like hell we’re not,” Louis says, striding forward and shoving his hand against Harry’s chest, open-palmed. “You can’t just - you found me. You almost killed two people in the process.”

Even if they don’t talk about anything else, they have to talk about that. Louis hasn’t been able to sleep for the past three days, chest tight when he thinks about what it must have been like for Harry, desperate to find him, terrified at the thought that he might not make it in time. Louis hadn’t been thinking about Harry when he had been trying to escape, hadn’t had the room for it in his head, but now all he can think about is that Harry had probably smelled his panic and fear the entire time.

It had been twelve hours. Every second of those twelve hours, Harry had been trying to find him.

“Yeah,” Harry says. He doesn’t back away, and the look on his face says that he wants to touch Louis, run his hands over every inch of him and check for injuries, make sure he’s okay for himself. “That doesn’t change anything.”

Louis wants to scream. It’s an urge he’s been having for longer than the past three days. Scream until Harry uses his mouth to shut him up, scream until he gets what he wants, until they’re together for real. It’s a childish, immature desire, he knows. He still wants to do it.

“I don’t – ” he has to stop to swallow, think about what he’s going to say next. Saying that he didn’t come here to fight would be a lie, and not even a good one. He has every intention of fighting for what he wants, and he wants Harry. As in, _until death do us part, do you take this man as your husband_ kind of want. 

“You have to talk to me about this,” he says, spreading his hand out on Harry’s chest as wide as his fingers will let him. “Please, I just, I have to know that you’re okay.”

That part isn’t a lie. Louis rescued himself, but Harry went through hell trying to find him, and he needs to know that Harry is okay. He doesn’t want to imagine what the inside of Harry’s head would have looked like while he was missing.

Harry’s mouth twists slightly. If Louis wasn’t standing right in front of him he might not have seen it. “I’m not the one who was kidnapped.”

Whatever is going through his brain right now, Louis doesn’t understand it. Harry came for him. Harry _came for him_. 

“You were bloody when you found me,” Louis says, stepping closer, so their bodies are pressed together. Relief washes through him at the touch, at the fact that Harry still doesn’t pull away. “You almost killed some people, I know that you have feelings about that – ”

“Louis,” Harry interrupts, framing Louis’ face between his hands, gentle. “I’m not the one who was kidnapped. I’m _fine_.”

Louis sucks in a breath. His eyes are wet. He’s mostly felt numb since he woke up in the hospital, apathetic about most of the ordeal. He was only really upset when Harry never came back, and that hurt was quick to turn to anger. Now, it’s like the cork has been popped out of a bottle, bubbles fizzing up over the rim. He doesn’t even know for sure what he feels, too complex to sort through in a few seconds. Harry’s here, though, and he came for Louis, and that’s what Louis has been clinging to for the past three days.

Harry came.

“Okay,” Louis says unsteadily. “I want you to be okay.”

Harry’s hands don’t leave his face. Louis curls his own around the back of Harry’s neck, tangling his fingers together tight. He doesn’t want to let go. “I am,” Harry says. “Are you?”

It’s not really something Louis has thought about in depth. He’s been focused on Harry, on why Harry left and didn’t come back, and when he wasn’t thinking about that he was thinking about what Harry must have gone through. What the ordeal was like for Louis hasn’t really been a big part of his thinking.

Louis did what he needed to do in order to survive. He doesn’t feel bad about it, at least not right now. He hurt some people before they could do much worse to him, and he had to do that or else they would have killed him. He’s sure of that now. It was a horrible, traumatic experience, and he’s sure that all of that is going to catch up with him at some point, but right now, he’s okay. It helps that Harry’s holding him.

“Yeah,” Louis says. “I missed you. And I’m sorry.”

There’s a gentle furrow forming between Harry’s eyebrows. “For what?”

For what? For acting like a giant dick for so long. For being so uncooperative when Harry was only trying to keep him safe. For making Harry feel like quitting was his only option.

Not for loving him, though.

“Everything,” Louis says. “I didn’t want you to leave.”

Harry sighs, slow and deep. He looks like he wants to pull away, but he doesn’t, and Louis is grateful for that. “You didn’t really leave me any other options.”

There were other options. The words bubble up in Louis’ chest, begging to spill out. He swallows them back forcefully. Getting into another fight isn’t going to solve anything. For now, he just has to have this, for as long as Harry will let him. He has to take it one step at a time.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight,” he says. It’s the truth, and he feels a little weak for admitting it. “And I don’t want you to be alone, either.”

_Please_ , Louis thinks. _Please don’t make me leave_. He’s not sure he could handle that right now. He’s barely keeping it together as it is.

Slowly, Harry’s hands slide down the back of Louis’ neck, linking together at the small of his back, finally hugging him back. He rests his cheek against the side of Louis’ head, and Louis breathes him in, as fully and deeply as he’s always wanted to.

“Okay,” Harry murmurs. “You can stay here tonight, but you have to go home in the morning. Does your family know that you’re here?”

The satisfaction Louis feels at the acceptance is marred by _you have to go home in the morning_. He pushes it back, nodding against Harry’s chest. One step at a time.

 

Harry’s flat is a one bedroom, but he has a fairly comfortable looking couch. He doesn’t even offer to sleep on it, herding Louis into the bedroom, and Louis feels an overwhelming crash of relief. There’s not a single part of him that doesn’t think of Harry as his alpha, and right now he needs his alpha with him, in the same room as him. Preferably in the same bed as him, but he’ll take what he can get.

“Do you want clothes to sleep in?” Harry asks, standing by his dresser. He’s not looking at Louis, pretending to examine something in the drawer he’s pulled open.

It must be an excuse to make Louis smell like him, otherwise he wouldn’t be avoiding Louis’ gaze like this. An instinct that Harry’s given in to. Louis’ belly warms at the thought.

“Yes,” Louis says. He doesn’t wait for Harry to give him the clothes, stripping his shirt over his head and letting it fall to the floor before starting in on his jeans. Those end up in a pile on the floor as well, and he steps out of them, kicking them away, leaving him in just his pants by the time Harry turns back around.

Harry blinks, knuckles going white from the grip he has on the clothes. “Fuck,” he sighs, unabashedly _looking_ for a minute before he shakes himself out of it and crosses the room to hand Louis the clothes.

If it wasn’t for the mild headache he’s still experiencing from the concussion, Louis might say something about it. He’s tired, though, and Harry’s unmade bed is calling his name. The sheets look soft and rumpled, perfect for a good night’s sleep. Louis doesn’t waste any time donning Harry’s clothes, climbing into the bed and squirming his way under the covers.

The entire time, Harry just watches him, unmoving from his spot. Louis curls up on his side, trying not to inhale Harry’s scent too obviously.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says suddenly. “I should have been there, should have protected you – ”

“Don’t,” Louis interrupts, reaching a hand out over the covers. “Don’t do that to yourself, Harry. They would have found a way to do it no matter what. Just come to bed, alright?”

The last thing he wants is for Harry to feel guilty. Nothing could have prevented what happened to Louis. If they hadn’t grabbed him then, they would have just found another opportunity to do so. They would have taken Louis without any regard for collateral damage, and in a way he’s almost grateful that he was alone when it happened. That way no one else got hurt.

Harry hesitates. It’s obvious that he wants to, but something is holding him back. And Louis cares about what that is, he does, and he wants to work with Harry to figure out how to solve it, but he’s so tired right now. He’s tired, and Harry is tired, and lying in bed together is something that both of them need, not just Louis. Louis is sure of it.

“Please,” Louis says softly. “Just for a few minutes, then you can get up. I need you.”

They must be the magic words. He can see the second that Harry’s resolve evaporates. Harry runs a hand through his hair, nodding absently. He comes to the bed, lying down in the space Louis left for him, facing him. He’s still not wearing a shirt, but Louis doesn’t have much time to appreciate the view before he’s drawing the covers up over both of their shoulders, cocooning them in the warmth. 

There’s nothing to say, at least not right now. Louis tangles their fingers together, and he falls asleep with Harry’s hair tickling his cheek.

 

In the morning, Louis goes home without a fight. Sleeping with Harry next to him brought him a lot of clarity, and he knows what he has to do next.

 

The interview is held on the estate grounds, on the patio while the sun shines overhead. Only the interviewer and the cameraman are present, at Louis’ request. He’s not particularly looking forward to the lines of questioning that will inevitably come up during the next twenty minutes, but it’s a sacrifice he’s willing to make.

The interviewer’s name is Sarah. Louis has done a couple of interviews with her before, mostly charity related, and he picked her specifically because she’s always been professional in the past. She’s never shown any inclination of wanting anything other than her story, which Louis can appreciate.

Of course, the first question out of the gate is about the kidnapping. Louis answers it, going into as little detail as he can get away with, and steers the questioning towards less heavy topics. 

He set up this interview with the caveat that one specific question be asked. Towards the end of the twenty minutes, Sarah asks it. It doesn’t leave much time to answer it, but that’s fine with Louis. This is an apology and a romantic gesture rolled into one, and the only reason he’s doing it on air is because that’s the least of what Harry deserves from him.

“You wanted to leave time at the end of the interview to say something to someone, right, Louis?”

Louis swallows. He wants to tangle his fingers together in his lap to prevent any nerves from showing through, but his media training kicks in, preventing any shaking or undue fidgeting.

“Yes. I have to apologize to someone. My mother always taught me to be considerate of others and think about their situations, and I didn’t do that. I was too wrapped up in what I wanted to consider the ways it would affect him, and for that I’m sorry. I had so many feelings for you that I didn’t know what to do with, and I knew that you had feelings for me too. I should have been more mature about the way I handled things, but I wasn’t, and you still looked at me like you loved me anyway. I’m in love with you, and I’m not going to apologize for that. I want you to be a part of my life, and I know how much I’m asking of you, what I’m asking you to sacrifice, but I don’t know what to do without you and I miss you so much.”

He has to stop to take in another deep breath, grateful that there’s only two people who can smell how nervous he is right now. It’s a small mercy.

“I love you,” he repeats. “And I want to be with you, but I understand if you don’t. Just - please don’t leave me hanging, alright? Please.”

He stops talking, squeezing his fingers together hard enough to hurt, and gives the camera the best smile he can muster up. Hopefully it’ll be enough for an answer, at least, even if it’s not the one Louis wants. All he can do is wait and see.

 

As soon as the interview is over, Louis does his best to distract himself. The interview was live, but there’s no way of knowing if Harry was watching it, or even if he’ll watch it at all. If Louis was in his position, he thinks he might not. Sometimes it’s more painful to live with a constant reminder of someone than to just let them go.

No matter what has been going on in his life, Louis has always been able to lose himself in a good book. He heads to the library and peruses the shelves for a few minutes, torn between picking something he’s already ready before or finding something new that looks intriguing.

He ends up pulling _Wuthering Heights_ off the shelves. It’s one that he’s never read before, although he’s been meaning to for a long time. He settles down in a chair, opening the book, and starts reading.

By chapter four, he’s fully engrossed. Earnshaw adopts Heathcliff, and Hindley becomes jealous. It’s a captivating story, which is why Louis doesn’t realize he’s no longer alone until he’s hauled up out of his seat.

His heart skips a beat. Before it starts to race, Harry’s scent sinks in, and Louis relaxes.

“An interview, really?” Harry demands, pushing Louis up across the floor. Louis’ socks skid against the hardwood, until his back is up against the nearest wall. Harry’s caging him in from the front, an immovable force. “You put it out there for the entire world to see.”

He doesn’t seem upset about it. Louis reaches up and links his fingers behind Harry’s neck. Harry came all the way here instead of just calling him. That has to mean something good, especially considering how quickly he came.

Please let it mean something good.

“I didn’t want to hide it,” Louis says. Harry’s warm, still wearing his jacket, and he smells so good. It would be weird to say that Louis’ knees feel a little weak.

Louis’ knees feel a little weak.

“I meant it,” he adds. “I love you, but I get it if being with me is too hard. I didn’t get to choose this life, being hounded by the media or having threats made against me, people trying to hurt me, but you can. Whatever you decide, I get it.”

He means every word of it. Even if it hurts, he would understand if Harry said no.

“You beautiful little bastard,” Harry says, wrapping his hand around Louis’ left thigh and pulling his leg up over his hip, leaving Louis balanced on the toes of his right foot, mostly using Harry for balance. “You gave me a gorgeous, heartfelt apology on live telly and still expected me to be able to say no?”

Slow, liquid heat crawls through Louis’ stomach. “You could.”

“As it turns out, I’m pretty bad at saying no to you,” Harry tells him. His hand is big on Louis’ thigh, holding him tight, and close like this, it’s impossible to ignore that he smells like _alpha_. “I would have had to quit as your bodyguard sooner or later. You’re so goddamn distracting.”

Louis pushes up a little, bringing them closer together. If it seemed like Harry was in the mood to allow it, Louis would push him down to the floor and get them touching as much as humanly possible. Harry doesn’t, though. He’s simmering, tense and ready to explode, and Louis doesn’t think it’s because he’s angry.

Harry’s hard against Louis’ thigh. He can feel the swell of it even through their clothing, big and appealing, and the fact that he wouldn’t even think to put Louis in this position if it wasn’t for Louis’ repeated acknowledgments that he wants it is one of the reasons Louis loves him.

There’s a million other ones. Louis’ blood is rushing to his cock, preventing him from being able to name them out loud, but he can think of at least a thousand off the top of his head. Starting with how big Harry’s cock feels pressed up against him.

“Maybe you’re just easily distracted,” Louis says, caught between his alpha and a wall. There’s nowhere he would rather be.

“I’m not,” Harry says. He’s pressing Louis in even further with every breath, and if he doesn’t stop Louis is going to end up with his legs wrapped around Harry’s hips, grinding against him. And that’s – oh, that’s something Louis wants, so much that he can smell his own slick in the air, but they’re – they’re trying to have a conversation, here. 

At least, Louis thinks they are. He isn’t the only one who’s capable of being distracting.

“I’m a goddamn professional,” Harry continues, fitting his hand between Louis’ back and the wall, pulling their hips flush together. Louis gives in, hiking his other knee up onto Harry, letting him support all of Louis’ weight. “I don’t get easily distracted, and clients being rude or entitled or bratty or flirty are all things I can ignore. You, though – ”

He stops talking, makes a low noise in his throat as Louis pushes down against him particularly hard. His eyes say _yeah, baby_ , and Louis thrills from it. Can’t help but imagine what it’ll sound like when Harry says it for real, out loud. He’s always pictured Harry as the type to be equally dirty and revering during sex, filled with the best kind of erotic praise.

“I what?” Louis pushes, sliding his fingers through Harry’s hair, scratching at the base of his scalp.

“You make me want to chase you,” Harry says. “Just drop everything and encourage all of your bad behaviour, chase you because you want me to and I want me to.”

Louis squirms a bit, tracing the edge of Harry’s jaw with his thumb. Harry’s eyes are piercingly green, dark with arousal. He looks like he wants to take a bite out of Louis and then come back for seconds. Maybe even thirds.

“I hate to break it to you, but that’s literally what you did,” Louis says. “The only reason you were able to keep me out of trouble is because I was always too busy trying to get your attention to create any scandals.”

Months down the line, it turns out that Harry was right that time he said Louis was pulling his pigtails. Having Harry’s attention always made everything glow around the edges.

“I know,” Harry says, wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I was unprofessional and so were you, so I think we can call it even.”

“Fine,” Louis agrees. “On one condition, though.”

“What’s that?” Harry asks, rocking his hips up the second that Louis rocks down, sending frissons of pleasure up his spine.

Louis has to stop for a second, gasp in a lungful of air. It feels like Harry’s stealing all of the oxygen, burning him up on the inside. Everything is so hot, and Louis is so wet, ready. He wants Harry’s cock inside him.

“You stop fucking around and finally give it to me the way you really want to.”

Harry pulls him away from the wall so fast Louis’ head spins a little. Before he knows it, Louis is bent arse up on a table, Harry a long line of heat pressed up against his back. There’s not an inch of space between them now.

“You have a mouth on you that I’ve wanted to stuff full since the first time you opened it,” Harry says into his ear. Louis trembles, mouth open against the wood of the table, unable to stop the images from rushing through his mind.

“So why don’t you do it, then,” Louis rasps. Harry’s pinning him still, big and heavy on top of him, and it feels incredible. Like the only way he could get away is if he really wanted to.

He doesn’t want to.

Harry laughs in his ear, sliding his hands up Louis’ arms slowly, leaving goosebumps in his wake, covering his hands and pressing them against the table as well. They’re skin to skin, the dark ink of their tattoos standing out, playing off each other. Louis is struck by the sudden, absurd thought that they’ll photograph well together.

It’s not unwelcome. In a few months, Louis plans to be planning their engagement party. Photos are a must in his life.

“I’m trying to tell you that I love you and you’re mouthing off,” Harry says. His hair brushes against the back of Louis’ neck as he shakes his head. “I should have pictured it exactly like this.”

He really should have. Louis doesn’t know how else it could have gone, not when it’s between them. It was always going to go like this.

“You’re doing a terrible job of it,” Louis complains, wiggling his arse back against Harry’s hips, reveling in the sharp inhale it gets out of Harry. “There’s no romance in getting pinned to a table with your cock poking me in the arse.”

Harry grinds forward, pressing his cock against Louis’ arse harder. “You’ve spent the last six months trying to get my cock in your arse exactly like this, baby,” he says. “I’m just giving you what you want.”

This is what Louis wants. There’s no doubt about that. Still, what kind of person would he be if he made everything easy for Harry? A completely different person, that’s who.

“I want to be wined and dined,” he says. “Flowers, gifts, the whole nine yards.”

“Mm,” Harry murmurs, laying a kiss against the back of Louis’ neck, with just a hint of teeth. Louis swallows a noise, unwilling to give in just yet. “How about ten inches, instead.” 

It does feel like ten inches, pressed against Louis’ arse. Louis can’t wait to see if it actually is.

“Do I seem that easy to you?” Louis asks, breathless. If he gets much wetter he’s going to actually start dripping.

Harry’s hands curl around his hips, big and warm. Louis strains up uselessly, twisting in Harry’s grasp, testing how far he can get.. “Yes,” Harry answers simply.

There’s nowhere he can go, caught between Harry’s body and the table. The warmth in Louis’ belly blossoms, spreads throughout the rest of his body. He is easy, at least for Harry. There’s no way they’re leaving here without having sex. Harry is in love with him.

Harry is _in love with him_.

“I am,” Louis agrees. “I want you so badly.”

All he can smell is Harry, surrounded by him. He’s Louis’ choice for everything, he’s everything Louis wants, and as sure as Louis is that Harry feels the same, he needs to hear it out loud. It’s one thing to be in love with someone, but _choosing_ them? It’s not the same thing.

Harry’s hot and distracting though, even when Louis isn’t facing him, and he has to focus enough to ask. “But you - you’re all in, right?”

It’s enough to stop Harry in his tracks. He pulls away, leaving Louis’ back cold for a second before he uses his grip on Louis’ hips to spin him around. Immediately, he shoves Louis right back up against the table, leaving him no room to escape, no room to avoid Harry’s gaze. His hot, open gaze, looking at Louis with unabashed, piercing arousal. Louis wants to climb him.

“Baby, the only way I’d be more in is if I was literally inside of you right now,” Harry says. He puts his hands back on Louis’ body, his face this time, fingers curling around the back of Louis’ head. “I’m with you, all the way.”

Using Harry’s shoulders for balance, Louis hops up onto the table, squeezing his thighs around Harry’s hips. It boosts him up an inch or two, making them more even in height, making it easier to see into Harry’s eyes. He’s looking at Louis like he’s always looked at him, fond and amused and attracted, and that look has evolved since they first met, but at its core, it’s still the same.

“What about all the other stuff?” Louis presses. “You won’t be able to work in security anymore, your face is going to be plastered all over the media, there’s so much fame that comes with - ”

Harry pushes him down flat on top of the table, looming over him. “Yes.”

Frustration bubbles in Louis’ chest, much less than should be present. Yes isn’t enough of an answer. All yes says is that Harry cares about him and wants to have sex with him.

“Now is not the time to be oblivious,” Louis says sharply, digging his nails into Harry’s arms. This isn’t a conversation to be turned on by, but Louis’ arousal hasn’t ebbed any.

Ducking his head, Harry scrapes his teeth down the line of Louis’ neck, slow and rough. The scent of his arousal is just as thick as Louis’, heavy in the air. Louis squirms, fingers clenching against Harry’s biceps so he won’t give in to the urge to bury them in Harry’s hair instead.

“I’m anything but oblivious when it comes to you,” Harry murmurs into Louis’ neck. “I know what it means to be with you, and I’m saying yes. Do you want me to get down on one knee to prove it to you or something?”

Every cell in Louis’ body throbs. Unconsciously, his thighs go tight around Harry’s hips. He’s never felt more like he belongs to someone in his entire life, and he never expected it to feel good. For a minute, he can’t speak, wetting his lips and looking up into Harry’s eyes.

“I wouldn’t say no,” Louis manages. He’s still wearing all his clothes, but somehow he feels naked, exposed. Stripped down to his bones.

Harry’s smile turns a fraction less sex-filled, a hint more genuine amusement shining in it. “I know,” he says, and like that’s solved anything, he bends his head and kisses Louis’ mouth, slowly, sweetly.

The last time they kissed, Louis had been concussed and trying to escape a literal nightmare. He hadn’t been able to focus on the kiss before he’d passed out, and really only has the vaguest memory of it, but this kiss is one that will go down in the history books. If Louis was on his feet, one of them would have popped up into the air by now. It’s a storybook kiss, made of heat and passion and the knowledge that it’s a kiss Harry’s going to give him for years to come.

Louis has never been kissed quite like this before.

Breaking the kiss, Louis pushes at Harry’s shoulders, trying to earn himself a bit of space, gasping, “You don’t - you can’t solve everything by kissing me.”

Harry rolls his hips, pushing their groins together, so Louis can feel him, almost every inch of him, hard and pressing against Louis’ own cock. “I’m not,” he says disagreeably. “I’m telling you that I know what it means to be with you, and I’m choosing you and everything that comes with you.”

Louis can’t breathe right. He might actually cry, he’s so happy. It’s still not - the details haven’t been worked out, they don’t know anything about what it’ll be like outside of this room, but Harry’s _choosing_ him.

“And I’m going to get down onto my knees and prove it,” Harry continues. Louis blinks, barely even has time to think _what_ before Harry’s pulling back and turning him over, so Louis is face down on the table again, hips flush with the edge. 

He has half a hysterical second to think about marriage proposals before his shirt is being pushed up his back and Harry is kissing his way down Louis’ spine. His mouth is warm and wet, leaving damp trails in his wake. Louis’ skin prickles up, mouth parting against his arm as he breathes out sharply. Harry’s always been the _say you’re sorry later_ rather than the _ask permission first_ sort, much like Louis is, and that’s always worked a lot better than it should have for the two of them. He’s definitely not asking permission now, heading south on Louis’ body, but Louis knows that if he showed the slightest bit of hesitation Harry would stop. No questions asked.

Like he knows that Louis has gotten a bit distracted, Harry bites him, teeth sinking in at the base of Louis’ spine, a prick of pain shivering through him. Louis gasps, pushing up onto his toes, into the bite and away from it at the same time. Tears well up in his eyes from the shock of it, and he gasps out, “ _Harry_ ,” without even thinking about it.

“Yeah, baby,” Harry murmurs, squeezing Louis’ arse with both hands, long and slow. Even through Louis’ trackies, Harry’s hands feel big, strong. Like he could take Louis apart with them, no problem. “Next time I’m going lay you out, spank you until your arse is sore and pink, make you apologize for every time you distracted me from doing my job, until you don’t know whether you’re begging me for more or begging me to stop.”

Louis’ nails scrape at the tabletop. Harry’s grip on him is tight, holding him still. He has to gasp for breath, twisting in Harry’s hold. “Gonna take a lot of time, that.”

Harry wants to hold him down and spank him. If Louis stops to think about it, that’s not really a surprise. The way Harry would look at him sometimes, frustrated and impatient, like all he wanted was to teach Louis a lesson, teach him his _place_ \- 

“Lucky for you, I’ve got the rest of my life,” Harry says, and pulls Louis’ trackies down. Louis isn’t wearing pants underneath, so the motion leaves him bare, exposed. Harry heaves a loud, appreciative sigh, and says, “ _Baby_.”

It seems like it should be impossible, but Louis gets a little wetter, just from the word. He turns his face into his arms, stifling his own breathing. It feels like an eternity, Harry just sitting there _looking_ at him, gaze open and hot, appreciative. Louis’ cock is hard, caught between his belly and the table, and he’s so wet that Harry could just slide right in, no prep necessary.

Then Harry runs his thumb across Louis’ arsecheek, leaning in, splitting him open, and before Louis knows it the first swipe of Harry’s tongue across his hole is happening.

Louis moans, fingers curling into his palms. Harry eats him out slowly, leisurely, like he has all the time in the world, tasting Louis’ slick, stealing every noise from him. It feels like the world is crashing down around them, and Louis doesn’t care. Not when Harry is giving him everything he needs.

Nothing has ever felt this good. Louis sinks down into it, eyes closed, lower lip caught between his teeth. He can hear himself making noise, ragged and constant, and if Harry doesn’t stop soon Louis is going to come. No doubt about it.

As though he can sense it, Harry pulls away, the movement so abrupt that Louis sways on his feet, trackies still tangled around his ankles. Before Louis can even begin to miss the warm, familiar weight of him, he’s back, arms smooth against the backs of Louis’ thighs like he’s taken off his jacket. His mouth presses against Louis’ arsecheek, not eating him out anymore, hands sliding all the way down Louis’ legs to push the sweats off his feet one at a time.

“You’re so goddamn gorgeous,” Harry tells him, and Louis flushes more than he thought possible with all the blood rushing to his cock. “Every single inch of you.”

He goes back to tonguing Louis’ hole, still slow and gentle, all the time in the world, hands gripping the back of Louis’ thighs, keeping him spread open. Louis loses the breath to say anything in return, eyes slamming shut again. He’s so sweaty, skin slick against the table, and if he stays in this position much longer he’s going to start sliding all over the place.

Harry’s thumb presses against Louis’ hole, sinking in easily from how wet he is, and Louis is coming before it’s even all the way in. Everything goes white around the edges, blurry, soft, somehow. He knows he’s trembling, entire body shaking, head to toe, and he doesn’t even know whether he’s breathing or not.

“Fucking _gorgeous_ ,” Harry repeats, waiting until Louis has finished coming before he’s slamming himself back onto his feet and turning Louis over, hands still spreading Louis’ thighs open as he fits himself between them. His kiss is jagged this time, rough around the edges, and he tastes like Louis. He smells like heat and sex. And pine. Always pine. Like rough, dirty sex in the woods.

“You know what’s going to happen when I fuck you?” Harry continues, pushing Louis back up onto the table properly, following him up, hovering over him. Louis is half naked, shirt tangled up around his armpits, and Harry is still fully clothed, the only part of him that’s bare is his arms.

Louis can fix that. Hazily, he reaches down, fumbling with Harry’s fly, trying to get at his cock. He needs to feel it, put it inside of him, make Harry come and come and come - 

“You’re going to _understand_ ,” Harry rumbles, splaying Louis’ thighs wider, trying to grind down against him even though Louis’ hand is in the way. “Every single thing I feel about you, every way I want to mark you up, make you smell like you’re _mine_ , make up for every time I wanted to fuck you but couldn’t - ”

He breaks off, fingers suddenly circling Louis’ wrist and squeezing as Louis succeeds in getting his jeans open, his hand on Harry’s cock. “I know,” Louis says desperately, hand plunging down and down and down in the tight fit of Harry’s jeans, stroking his cock. “Please, Harry, I know.”

Harry groans, hips fucking forward, into Louis’ hand. “You don’t,” he says, savage, holding Louis still as he takes over, controlling the pace. All Louis is doing is gripping Harry’s cock now, unable to do much more than change the tightness of his hold. “You don’t know what it was like for me, knowing that I could have you anytime I wanted but not the way I wanted, never for long enough, watching you flaunt around and flirt with me, try to figure out ways to get under my skin, so pretty I dreamed about you most nights.”

Louis swallows what little moisture he had in his mouth. Harry’s cock is so big in his hand, beginning of his knot forming at the base. That’s going to be inside him soon. “You dreamed about me?”

Sweat glistens on Harry’s neck, the curve of his cheeks. His dimples, as he smiles. “All the time. Most nights you were yelling at me about something stupid and I still wanted to fuck you.”

This is true fucking love. Who knew that this is what it would feel like.

“I’m not sorry,” Louis says, tangling his fingers in Harry’s hair, pulling a little. “You needed a little push.”

“I know,” Harry says, hands framing Louis’ face, hovering over him, big and broad. He’s still smiling, Louis’ alpha, so beautiful, and it makes Louis’ heart throb.

Along with other parts of him.

“Doesn’t mean you’re not going understand everything I was feeling,” Harry says, and slants his mouth over Louis’ before he can respond. The kiss steals all of Louis’ oxygen and hurts his chest a little, making it hard to breathe.

This kiss means everything. Louis opens up for it, much more eager than he would like to admit, kisses Harry back with everything he has. He’s Harry’s, has been for a while, and Harry is his, too. That’s what this kiss means.

_Everything_. This kiss mean everything.

After a minute, Louis pulls back, away from Harry’s hot mouth. He wants Harry’s knot, wants to be filled up the way only his alpha can. He feels like he’s trembling all over from how badly he needs it, from head to toe. The orgasm from a few minutes ago isn’t nearly enough to sate him.

“Please,” Louis murmurs. Harry’s cock is still in his hand, hot and thick, and he gives it another long, lingering stroke, paying special attention to the head. “Alpha, I need it.”

Harry’s off him so fast that for a split second, Louis thinks the words were a mistake. He pushes himself up onto his elbows, worried, but Harry’s only stripping himself down at lightning speed, shedding his clothes and letting them fall to the floor. Louis is down to his t-shirt, and he doesn’t bother trying to rid himself of it. Doesn’t really have time before Harry’s climbing back onto him, pinning him down again.

“Don’t know what I would have done if something happened to you,” Harry says abruptly. Ducking down, he kisses at Louis’ collarbone, tugging his shirt out of the way. Louis arches up into it, hands flying back into Harry’s hair. It’s wet and biting, sharp against his skin. There’s going to be marks left over in the morning.

It’s almost enough to distract him from the words. Harry sounds like he feels guilty, and Louis has no idea how to go about convincing him it’s not his fault.

“I’m fine,” Louis says. Harry resists when Louis tries to coax him back up, moving down further, mouth trailing across Louis’ chest. His shirt gets in the way, but Harry just moves past it, breathing warm against Louis’ nipples. “Stop blaming yourself, I’m _fine_.”

Harry’s mouth closes around Louis’ left nipple, sucking at it. Louis gasps and arches up into the wet pressure, eyes fluttering closed. He loses his train of thought, immersed in the pleasure of it, and thinks that he could probably come from this alone, given enough time.

It lasts for several long, satisfying minutes. Harry switches from one to the other, then back again, lavishing equal attention on both of Louis’ nipples. It’s a distraction, but it’s an effective one.

Sweat is pooling under Louis’ back. Convincing Harry that it wasn’t his fault is going to take longer than a single evening, but letting him have his way is a good start. If it takes the rest of his life, Louis will convince Harry that there was nothing else he could have done.

“I’m fine,” Louis repeats. It takes a few minutes, but he manages to get the words out. “But I would be even more fine if you were inside me right now.”

Slowly, Harry eases up. His eyes are dark, glittering, mouth wet and red. “You want that?” he asks, shockingly vulnerable even as he’s so alpha about it. “Want to be so full of me that you can’t think about anything else, just the way I feel inside of you?”

Louis doesn’t need to hesitate, sighing, “Yes,” immediately.

“Well then,” Harry says, bending his head to press another kiss against Louis’ mouth, much shorter this time, “Who am I to say no to royalty?”

Despite himself, Louis breaks into a smile. It’s not as bad as some of the other things Louis has heard him say, but it’s still a terrible joke. Louis loves him for it.

Harry pulls Louis’ shirt up over his head. Louis lifts up for it, dropping back down to the table afterwards. The wood is damp underneath him now, and the room reeks of the two of them, of sweat and slick and sex. Harry’s hands wrap around Louis’ thighs, lifting them up up a bit, cock sliding across his skin, almost in position.

Louis puts a hand on Harry’s cheek, drawing his gaze back to Louis’ face. “It’s not your fault,” he repeats. “I need you to believe that.”

Meeting his eyes, Harry looks at him for a minute. “Okay,” he says simply, nuzzling at Louis’ palm, his wrist, and it’s a start.

“Good,” Louis says, clearing his throat. “Now, are you going to fuck me or do I have to go out and find someone who will?”

It’s an empty threat. Harry rolls his eyes, smiling, and it’s a real smile, one Louis has put on his face. Louis’ heart clenches. It’s a feeling he’ll have to get used to.

“You’re a mouthy fucking brat,” Harry says, dragging his thumb down the middle of Louis’ chest, his belly, stopping just above his cock, “and I love you so goddamn much.”

He’s still smiling as he lines up and starts pushing in. Louis has a response for that, he does, but whatever it is completely flies out of his head as Harry’s cock presses against his rim, sinking inside of him with ease.

All Louis can do is grip at Harry’s shoulders hard, gasping for air as Harry sinks inside of him, inch after inch, so easily that they must have been made for each other. He’s being stretched wide, made to fit, and the thought thrills him. 

Harry pushes in as slow as he talks, making sure Louis feels every inch of it. His mouth is close, inviting, and Louis turns his head until he can line his own up, kissing Harry as desperately as he feels. Harry’s all around him, the only thing Louis can concentrate on, and it makes every cell in Louis’ body sing.

By the time Harry’s finished stuffing him full, it feels like ten inches. It takes every ounce of Louis’ willpower not to tell Harry that.

“Fuck,” Louis murmurs, opening his eyes. They’re too close together to be able to make out anything other than the green of Harry’s eyes, his slow, dreamy blinking. “You feel so good.”

Harry stops moving, every inch of his cock buried inside Louis’ arse. “Yeah?” he asks. His chest is heaving against Louis’, as though it’s taking all of _his_ willpower to keep still.

Louis doesn’t want him to keep still. Louis wants to be fucked like Harry means it, like Louis is the only thing in the world that matters. Doesn’t want Harry to hold anything back.

“Yeah,” Louis says. “Fuck me, alpha.”

It’s a cheesy, porny line, one that Louis has said before. He’s never meant it like this before, though. Never said it and had it be real before.

It works. Harry’s hands are griping Louis’ thighs again, pulling him up so his arse is completely off the table, and then he starts moving. His thrusts are deep and lingering, making Louis feel every inch of him. Louis means to breathe out quietly, but the noise that comes out of him is sharp, punchy. He grips Harry’s hips between his thighs, unwilling to let him pull too far away, and moves up into the thrusts, trying to match Harry’s movements. He doesn’t know whether he succeeds, already overwhelmed by the pleasure, so close to coming.

“Gonna come for me, baby?” Harry asks, voice deep, washing over Louis. Louis digs his fingernails into Harry’s skin, clenching down around him. Part of him wants to hold out, wait for Harry to knot him, but he’s pretty sure that’s not going to happen, not when everything feels so good.

Louis can’t manage an actual answer, noises coming out of him that might resemble words, even though he has no idea what they are. Just when he thinks things can’t feel any better, Harry wraps his fingers around Louis’ cock, stroking him unevenly, tightly. That’s all Louis can take, and he’s coming, eyes closed, mouth open, breathing hard.

This time, his orgasm is slow and sweet, less overwhelming. Pleasure pulses through him, pine and citrus surrounding them. Harry strokes him through it, watching Louis’ face, thrusts slowing a little.

Eventually, Louis catches his breath and opens his eyes. Harry’s looking at him, gaze intense, heated, and Louis wants him to come. Join them together.

Licking his bottom lip, Louis uncurls his fingers, sweeping his hand down Harry’s chest, pressing against his stomach. “I love you,” he says, and he’s not even saying it to get a reaction out of Harry, saying it because it’s true and it’s all he can think about right now.

It does get a reaction. Harry’s smile gets lost against Louis’ mouth as he kisses him again, and he starts thrusting again for real, deep and fast. Louis holds on, thighs clenching tighter around Harry’s hips, getting knocked up the table bit by bit. Neither of them are breathing right, sharp and ragged into each others mouths.

“Come on,” Louis murmurs, holding Harry tight, close. “C’mon, c’mon, Harry, please - ”

It’s the begging that does it. Harry bites at Louis’ mouth, stealing all of his breath, knot pressing against Louis’ rim for a few thrusts before it eases past the barrier, settling inside him like it was made for him. It’s big, overwhelming. Everything.

“Baby,” Harry whispers eventually. There’s a furrow between his eyebrows, almost pained, entirely beautiful. “Are you okay?”

Louis’ heart is so full it might burst. He smooths Harry’s hair back out of his eyes, fingers a little tacky with sweat. “I’m fucking _amazing_.”

Harry laughs, kissing Louis again, and like he was waiting for Louis’ confirmation, starts coming. Pulse after pulse soaks Louis on the inside, making him even wetter, flooding him with come. Tying them together for real.

“You are fucking amazing,” Harry sighs in the middle of it, mostly boneless on top of Louis, one hand gripping the back of his neck, holding him tight. He seems unwilling to let go, and that sends flutters through Louis’ belly.

Everything is finally the way Louis wants it. He’s got his alpha, the love of his life, and his alpha loves him back. Everything is the way it should be.

Content, Louis drifts off to sleep. He’s never been happier in his entire life.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.


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